


Dear Mr. Fantasy

by pineapplebreads



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Explicit Sexual Content, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Howard’s A+ Parenting, M/M, Misunderstandings, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-01
Updated: 2019-08-24
Packaged: 2020-04-05 21:40:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 58,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19048960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pineapplebreads/pseuds/pineapplebreads
Summary: Tony writes letters to his past loves to get over them. They’re all but meaningless by this point, but he keeps them hidden anyways, never to be seen or read by anyone else. Until one day they all mysteriously get sent out.His deepest secrets are revealed and he scrambles to do damage control, striking a deal to enter a fake relationship with Steve Rogers who just wants his ex back. Tony conveniently forgets to mention that the only love letter he still means is the one he wrote to his fake boyfriend.Inspired byTo All The Boys I've Loved Before(2018).





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is finished! It will be updated weekly as I edit.

Tony is six when his heart is broken for the first time.

He builds his first robot from the discovery channel engineering kit Jarvis and Ana gave him for Christmas, a box of mostly plastic building blocks and rudimentary circuit boards with a handful of blinking lights. It's a simple thing, but Tony has never been satisfied with simple. He doesn't really care to build a toy bot arm that swivels back and forth. No, he wants it to have fingers and dexterity, and he wants it to be able to close those fingers to pick things up.

The kit doesn't have enough to build beyond the arm, but he figures it out on his own. He has to scavenge parts from his father’s workshop to make the little robot functional but he is careful to only take the pieces and wires he needs from the recycling bin, making sure not to disturb any of his dad’s work.

It takes three months, but Tony is so excited to show his father what he'd made by the time he's done. He has a plastic robot arm with three clunky fingers that can close around a small plastic ball and pick it up. It also has a set of remote controllable wheels and makes a beeping sound. He is so sure his dad will be proud of him. His dad has been going on and on about how Starks are supposed be strong and brilliant and clever and inventive. Here Tony is, inventing!

Tony is so eager to show his dad his creation, he runs into his father’s study the very night he finishes the final touches, the tiny bot cradled protectively in his arms. Here is the first bot Tony made, all by himself. It is his first taste of creation, and what a heady feeling it is, to make something that _works_.

With a swell of pride expanding in his chest, Tony excitedly pushes open the door without remembering to knock and jogs giddily into the study. His father and uncle Obie are sitting at the enormous mahogany desk that fills nearly half the room, conversation interrupted by Tony's appearance.

Now, Tony knows he isn't supposed to bother his dad when he is in his office, especially not when he has guests over. They could be talking important business, but just this once, he is so excited, he doesn't think to politely excuse himself and wait until his father has time for him.

Uncle Obie greets Tony warmly enough, but the glare his father directs at him is enough to freeze Tony's blood in his veins. He can see the glass tumbler of amber liquid sitting on the desk by his father’s hand and there's a flush high on his cheeks. He knows what that means, but Starks are brave, so he stands taller and raises the bot in his hands to show his dad.

Between one moment and the next, there is a rush of wind, but that is impossible, the study has no windows, and then there is a sickening plasticky crack. Tony watches in horror as his bot tumbles to the ground, breaking into five pieces, the fingers he worked so hard to build now crooked and twisted. He looks up numbly with wide eyes to see his father's enraged expression and upraised hand.

Tony's hand smarts where he's still holding it up and open in offering. He quickly pulls it tight against his chest, rubbing at the ache he finds in between his ribs. There's an expanding pressure that overwhelms the burn on his palm but rubbing at it does little to soothe the pain there. The warm swell in his chest cracks open, wet and gushing over his heart and it burns, it _burns_ , and soon after, his eyes are burning too but Starks are strong, they do not cry.

He wipes furiously at his eyes before his father can see his tears and from somewhere above him, he is aware of yelling but he can only hear snatches of it between the rising buzz in his ears.

“Now Howard, he's just a kid—” Uncle Obie is saying in a placating tone, and Tony isn't sure if he loves him or hates him in that moment.

“The little brat knows better than to interrupt—where is Maria? _Maria_!” his father— _Howard_ is yelling. “This idiot, what a dumbas—dummy—Jesus Christ, coming in here to show me some dumb plastic toy— _Maria_!”

 _Dummy_. He's such a dummy. Tony is a dummy.

That is all Tony can take before he runs out of the study, leaving the pieces of his bot scattered on the carpet. He will be stronger, Tony promises himself. Stark men are made of iron. He _will_ be _stronger_.

...

The second time Tony's heart breaks, it is not for himself.

He is ten, and English is not his best subject. He’s just started teaching himself quantum theory for fun and he’s able to understand college level calculus but Tony sucks at writing. He knows if he only applies himself beyond writing code, his English grades will not suffer but he simply does not care.

He knows the future set ahead of him. It is unchangeable and unbendable, chosen for him before he was even born. He does not need to be good at writing to build weapons for his father’s company.

The class has just started learning letter writing and correspondence, and Tony hates it. He sees no reason to write letters that are meant to be sent through snail mail when there were texts and emails and instantaneous communication with modern shorthand and popular colloquialism. The idea of a physical letter on paper feels archaic and wasteful. What's the point of waiting so long for something when they can communicate at the speed of light?

And so, Tony had refused to do any of his writing homework. He gets sent home with a note that Friday, and his teacher is clever. She doesn't give it to Tony because she knows Tony is not to be trusted, she knows Tony would never show his parents. She makes sure Happy gets the note when he picks Tony up and Tony can do no more than scowl the whole drive home.

Thankfully, Howard is away on a business trip and Tony only has his mother to contend with, and true to form, Happy, the traitor hands the note directly to her. Maria scans the little post-it quickly and looks at Tony with soft sad eyes.

Tony takes a deep breath and steels himself, ready for the deluge of disappointment. Amazingly, it does not come.

“Oh, Anthony,” she sighs, taking him by the hand. She tugs him upstairs and gestures for him to sit by the foot of her bed as she goes to rummage in her huge walk-in closet.

Tony feels like a little boy all over again, remembering all the times he sat in his mother’s room and watched avidly as she applied her makeup and dressed up for galas and balls and events. He had always been entranced seeing her go from beautiful to breathtaking with the swipe of a red lipstick and a line of black kohl around her dark eyes. It was a privilege to be asked to help her with her necklace, to fetch her earrings, to help her pick a pair of shoes to go with her dress.

Howard had been very unhappy to find Tony worshipping his mother long past what he had deemed “an appropriate age,” and immediately dissuaded her from allowing Tony to spend so much time with her the moment he turned seven. Howard was worried he would grow up to be a sissy if he keeps letting his mother paint his toenails.

Tony snorts at that thought. He’s not going to be a sissy because his toes are pink and purple. He’s going to be a sissy because even at the tender age of ten, he knows he likes boys too. Not that Howard needs to know that.

Maria returns with an old fashioned hatbox in her arms. The box is enormous and round, a cylinder of hideous faded blue jacquard silk embroidered with branches of gardenias and birds hiding between the leaves. The fabric is peeling at the edges, dark cardboard peeking through the tattered seams. Tony wonders why his mom would even keep such an ugly old thing when she has mountains of lacquered black boxes topped with white silk camellias and piles of bright orange boxes printed with horse carriages Tony knows are filled with very expensive things.

Maria lifts the lid carefully, and out of curiosity, Tony sidles closer to see what's inside. The hatbox is filled to the brim with envelopes, and upon closer look, they're all addressed to Maria. Some of letters are older than others, slightly yellow with age and crinkled in the corners. She lifts them one by one from the box with reverent care, placing a small stack of them in Tony's hands.

“May I?” Tony breathes, stroking his finger along the first envelope flap. Curiosity itches at the back of his head as he stares at the letters. His heart sticks in his throat and he may not know the contents of the preciously preserved papers, he knows they're very, very important to his mother. He aches with how tenderly she looks at him when she nods.

Tony reads through the handful of letters his mother gives him, each one more loving than the last. He almost drops the sheaf of papers after the reading the first page, hit with the cold realization these words were written by Howard. Tony's brain short circuits, trying to reconcile the man in the letters with the cold, angry man who lives at the bottom of a bottle. He wants to give the papers back; he doesn't feel like he should be reading these.

The letters are all intimately private, gorgeous words of prose and love and little mundane things that reminded Howard of Maria while he was at MIT and she was in California. Tony can feel the emotion welling in his throat as he reads, disbelieving that the Howard he knows could've written these beautiful poetic words.

“He loved you so much,” Tony whispers as his heart breaks in two.

Suddenly, he understands why she has never stood up to Howard, even when she knew what he’s doing. She’s seen the red marks on Tony’s hands, the bruises on his arm. She’s heard the way he speaks and yells and screams. She’s turned a blind eye to the way Tony’s expression goes flat as he hunches his shoulders when Howard walks into a room.

But to have known Howard as a man like this, someone who had loved her so much and to have once been good and soft and loving, Tony thinks he would've wanted to cling to the memory and live in the past too. He now understands the _mommy has a tiny headache_ pills, the _I just need a little nap_ pills, the _your father loves you in his own way_ pills.

“Oh darling boy,” Maria says dreamily. “One day someone will love you this much too.”

But how? Tony wants to ask. _You_ don't even love me.

He reads the letters again, and his heart crumbles. It breaks for his mother, who had loved Howard so much. It breaks for the man his father might have been once, but will never be again, the wide eyed romantic left to rot at the bottom of a bottle. It breaks for how fervently he wishes he could have known Howard like that too. It breaks for his mother, who still hopes.

...

Tony is fourteen when his heart breaks for the third time.

That year, his parents send him to summer camp. His parents call it character development. Jarvis calls it enrichment. Tony calls it what it is: his parents don't want to see him for eight weeks.  

Her name is Janet van Dyne and she's the only other person there sitting outside of the kumbaya circle during the bonfire welcome party. Neither of them are willing to join the ring of chattering kids eager to impress one another and make friends as they roast marshmallows. The camp counselors glare at them, so Tony edges closer to her and they start to chat.

Janet is beautiful, petite with delicate pixie features and sharp of wit. They become fast friends.

“People like us,” Janet says on the first night, “will never fit in with people like them.” She waves a hand at the rest of the circle. “It's not about money. We're all at camp rich kids. It's about how we think. We _know_ too much. The rest of them? They're all little better than sheep. Everything will be paved and paid by mommy and daddy and none of them will want to reach beyond what they're given.”

“And what makes you think I'm any different?” Tony asks, thinking of how he's going to intern at Stark Industries in a couple of years with a sick twist in his stomach.

Janet gives him a sharp look, her nose scrunched in thought before her expression smooths into a slow smile. “I just know,” she says. “You're smarter than that. I can tell.”

They spend the summer sneaking off into the woods together to swim in the forbidden sinkhole and lay spread out on the grass at night to map the stars. They swap stories of how much their parents suck, the new secretary Janet's dad is fucking that week and the new project at SI that Howard doesn't know how to finish. They make a promise with glass shard cut palms in front of the campfire that they will never become their parents.

Janet can keep up with Tony's rambling brain any day of the week, and her knowledge of quantum physics far surpasses his own. She's the only one who doesn't ignore him because he speaks in tangents and she leapfrogs with him from one subject to the next. She's not scared of his parents and what the Stark name means because her own family name weighs like a similar heavy yoke. She doesn't shy from the challenge of his pendulum moods, doesn't frighten because of his short temper and bouts of melancholy.

She understands.

She understands him differently than his best friend Rhodey does. Where Rhodey sees him as a bright fire that needs containment and soothing, a liquid cool counterpart to where Tony burns out of control, Janet burns just as bright as he does, blazing hot and destructive.

They stay friends after the summer ends and for a long time, Janet is one of Tony's only friends, his best friend after Rhodey, and Tony is besotted with her.

They attend the same camp again the next year, Tony's last year of freedom before his life will belong to his father's company. Despite the year apart, their friendship is much the same and Janet is exactly as he remembers. The only difference is, Tony thinks he might be a little bit in love with her.

He's too scared to do anything like try to kiss her or hold her hand at camp, but he thinks of asking her on a date after they go home for the summer. He thinks they can work despite being on opposite sides of the country. He's in New York and she's in Malibu, but it's surely worth a try, because who else can understand him like Janet can? Maybe she loves him too. Probably.

That's the naivety talking, because Tony never does work up the courage. The halcyon summer days pass and his chance slips through his fingers. The moment is gone.

One day soon after camp ends, Janet skypes to tell him she met Hank Pym, and Tony knows he'll never have her.

“I've never met anyone with a brain like his, Tony,” she gushes. “You two would get along so well!” Her words are a knife blade between his ribs.

 _First loves hurt the most_ , they say. _First loves never leave you. You'll always remember your first love._

That year, on the last day of summer, Tony remembers the silk hatbox and writes his first letter, and he puts Janet out of his mind. They stay friends, but the thought of loving her never comes around again.

The memory of her fire often comes to mind though, how brightly she burns, like a star in nova. Janet taught him to be brave, and that year, for the first time, he stands up to Howard. When Howard tells him his internship at SI will be starting soon, Tony remembers the fire in Janet’s eyes and he tells his father _no_.

That fall, he meets Steve Rogers.

…

Tony is seventeen the fourth time his heart breaks. He is getting so used to it by that point, it shouldn't even hurt anymore. But it is agony. At first, it feels like numbness until the burn flames through his chest, and it hurts so much he wonders how he will survive.

They find lethal amounts of diazepam and prozac in her blood, and the press somehow gets ahold of that information. On the Monday Tony returns to school, he’s hounded by journalists on the front steps shouting in his face, “I heard Maria Stark was found dead in her bathtub. Is that true?”

“How will this affect Stark Industries?”

“Did your mother commit suicide?”

“Was she drugged? Was this a homicide? Was she poisoned?”

“Tony! How do you feel about your mother’s apparent suicide?”

Happy does his best to keep them from touching Tony, but even with the help of the school security guards, they can barely hold back the flock of vultures. It takes everything in Tony to hold onto his emotionless public face, gritting his teeth until his mouth feels numb. He will not show weakness to the horde, they will eat him alive. _Poor little rich kid crying on the front page of_ Us Weekly _because his mom overdosed._

 _Stark men are made of iron_ , Tony repeats silently to himself as he looks straight ahead, ignoring the questions.

The walk up the wide flat steps to the school doors feels like a climbing a mountain and the minutes feel like hours. Tony's feet feel heavy and leaden and his heart is beating a mile a minute with a mixture of rage and grief and irrational shame. He knows there are crowds of students gathered behind the reporters, watching, staring, and judging. He clenches his fists tight to keep from decking any reporters that get too close.

Then someone darts in front of him and the next two minutes happen in a blur. When asked about it later, Tony and Steve will have very different versions of the story. It goes like this: one of the vultures manage to sneak out from behind Happy and gets close enough to grab Tony’s arm, voice recorder shoved under his nose. Tony instinctively turns, startled, and makes to wrench away when the question comes.

“We know it's been a rocky year for Stark Industries. Did your refusal to join SI affect your mother’s suicide?”

The question guts Tony like a knife, resurfaces the months of arguments he had with Howard and Uncle Obie. He's stunned into silence and his feet fall to a leaden stop.

In the split second between the question connecting in his brain but before Tony can register what is really happening, the recorder clatters onto the ground in front of him and someone’s foot stomps on it, crushing it to pieces. The foot kicks the pieces of plastic away for good measure, and the hand that was gripping Tony’s arm is flung violently away from him.

Size eleven Converse chucks, he notes dully.

“Don't you fucking dare talk to him that way!” someone snarls, and it takes Tony a minute to recognize the person who had torn the reporter off of him.

Steve Rogers’ normally handsome face is twisted dark with rage, his eyes narrowed into angry slits. He's leaning so far into the other guy’s face, Tony has a hysterical moment where he thinks the reporter might fall onto his ass to get away from Steve.

Tony almost laughs. He's reminded sharply of the first day he met Steve, on the first week of their freshman year. Tony was the new spectacle at their school, the infamous Stark Industries heir whose name constantly appears splashed across tabloid covers with equal parts outlandish rumors and news of innovative tech projects.

For the first month of school, he often sauntered into homeroom late with coffee in hand. Loud mouthed and full of childish arrogance, he knew he was smarter than everyone else including the teachers, and he wasn’t shy to let others know that. Tony can admit now, he was a bit of a dick. Naturally, that drew the bullies like blood in water drew sharks.

Tony had been careless then, he had somehow allowed himself to get cornered in an empty hallway one day between classes and he was surrounded in seconds. There were four of them, and they were as big as they were dumb. Tony couldn't help himself. He never could keep his damn mouth shut, as Howard always liked to say.

He had some choice words for the oafs standing menacingly in front of him, and after the second time they called him a fag, he had yawned and calmly asked, “you got anything more creative than that, you singled-celled diatoms?”

That was when the first fist flew. Before Tony had even realized what was happening, someone was stepping in front of him to block the punch. It was Steve, then scrawny sickly thin Steve Rogers from second period English, had saved Tony from a sure beating, taken it himself and later that day, Tony taped up his bleeding cuts in the fourth floor boys bathroom. They never spoke of the event again, not even during the endless hours of detention they served together.

Tony had often thought of Janet, and how differently her careless rebellion had burned compared to Steve’s bright temerity as they sat for long hours after school in the small classroom, laughing with Steve as he doodled silly drawings for Tony’s amusement.

How ridiculous it is now, to ever think Steve had been as small as Tony, as he stares incredulously at Steve's bulk towering over the reporter who looks like he's about to cry. Steve is huge now, with broad hulking shoulders that look like they can hold up the world, big hands gripped in the reporter’s shirt as he snarls in his face, star quarterback in all his intimidating glory.

Steve had weighed all of ninety pounds soaking wet when he came running to Tony's defense years ago. Steve had taken on four bullies twice their size and gotten two black eyes to save him. And here is Steve saving Tony again.

It makes Tony irrationally angry, sudden heat flaring from his belly and burns all the way to his heart as his cheeks bloom red with humiliation. He can't stand it. He turns on his heel and runs.

Later, Rhodey finds Tony on the football field underneath the bleachers. He takes one look at him and doesn't say anything, simply crawls down to sit next to him on the damp grass. He takes Tony in his arms as he shakes, gulping wet sobs and streaming snot. Tony cries all the tears he hadn’t been able to shed at his mother's funeral. He cries for his mom.

A month later, Tony finds Steve in the fourth floor boys bathroom gripping one of the sinks with white knuckled hands as he gasps for breath. His face is tear streaked, nose swollen and dripping. Their eyes meet briefly in the mirror and Tony _knows_. Even years ago, when they could've been something called friends, sitting together in detention week after week, even then Steve's dad—he was sick. And his mother had struggled so much to take care of her husband and son.

Tony wants nothing more than to hold Steve and give him whatever comfort he can offer, but it is not his place. They are not friends, not anymore, and Tony has always been a coward when it comes to Steve. Tony can't take the mirroring anguish he sees in his eyes, can't stand to see big strong Steve like this. He runs again.

In the hall outside the door, Tony nearly collides into Peggy Carter, Steve’s girlfriend. She gives him an unreadable look and moves past him to go into the bathroom. The door swings shut behind her, muffling the soft soothing sound of her voice and Steve’s anguished sobs.

 _Good_ , Tony thinks, his heart feeling leaden and heavy. Steve has someone who can take care of him.

That night, Tony calls Howard and agrees to take the SI internship. Afterwards, he sits down with shaking hands and writes his fifth and last letter.

…

_Dear Steve,_

_I'm writing this letter because I know you will never read it. My father, who shall henceforth only be called Howard because fuck that guy, once told me that there are only two instances when anyone is truly honest: when they are angry, and when whomever they're talking about isn't going to know what is being said about them._

_So here's me being honest. You should appreciate it even if you never see this because I'm not honest often._

_Let's start small, I guess. Usually my motto is go big or go home, but I hear people begin at the beginning sometimes (wow this letter is_ not _off to a great start)._

 _I never really thanked you for that one time you saved me from getting my ass kicked, and subsequently got your own ass kicked, did I? Well, thank you. Although I'm not sure if it was very effective to run headfirst into a fight on the first week of school to save a scrawny kid from getting punched by throwing your own face into the path of the incoming fist. I did appreciate the, “hey, pick on someone your own size, you jerks!” though. That was great because you clearly_ weren't _anywhere close in size to Victor or his cabal of idiots. Either way, I appreciate it. Even if it leads me to this next point._

_There's no easy way to say it so I'm just going to do it. I like you, Steve Rogers. And I hate that, just so you know. I hate that I was like some damsel in distress needing to be saved, even if Norman would've handed my ass to me on a platter. Kind of like he did to you. And then you had to go ahead and save me again, with that reporter. Why do you keep doing that?_

_I hate that you saving me allowed me to see you._

_I saw how kind and selfless you are, how brave you are, how headstrong you are, how you won’t back down even against impossible odds. How you snarled back at the face of evil with your back straight and fists up._

_“I can do this all day”???_

_I think I could love you. That sounds a little dramatic, doesn't it? I think I could really love you, if I got to know you. I was kind of hoping I would get the chance to do that. I've never wanted to get to know anyone more._

_But I was also terrified because the enormity of my feelings is already so intense, I can’t even imagine how they would be if I actually got to be your friend, so I held myself back. I was scared of how much I could grow to love you, someone so good and amazing and brave and strong. I don't mean your physical strength now either. You've always been strong, even in the very beginning when everyone else thought you were anything but._

_Either way, I was being a coward. I can admit that to myself._

_I'm rambling now. Point is: I like you. I might even love you. And I have to get over you because you're with Peggy Carter now, so I guess this is goodbye too._

_Let's be honest though, I would never have been good enough for you anyways, not when I can’t even be there for you when your dad passed away. I wish I had the courage to reach out, to comfort you, to be selfless, to help you like you helped me, but all I did was slink back into the shadows when I saw your anguish because it reminded me too much of my own when I lost my mom. I'm sorry. I wish I could be brave like you, but I think you're plenty brave for both of us._

_Good luck, Steve Rogers. I wish you only the best because that's the least of what you deserve. I'm glad that at least one of us gets a happily ever after. Just know that once upon a time, the boy you saved could've would've maybe kinda yeah okay,_ actually _loved you._

~~_Yours (that's a little pretentious, sorry, but I never know how to end letters),_ ~~

_Love,_ _  
_ _Tony_


	2. Chapter One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the delay on this chapter. It's been a hectic week, but we should be back to a weekly schedule now. I'm the only one writing and editing this, and all of that takes time. Thank you all for your patience, and thank you all so much for the terrific response to this fic so far!

It feels a lot like heartbreak when Rhodey hugs him goodbye with overly bright eyes and trembling arms. Tony swallows back his own tears and puts on his brave face, even as he struggles to keep himself from begging his best friend to stay.

“Hey, it's not so bad,” Rhodey says as he pulls away. He squares his shoulders and takes a deep shuddering breath. “It's only Boston, Tones. There's always FaceTime and Skype. In fact, I’ll call you as soon as I get there. Will that make you feel better?”

“Yeah,” he mumbles as Rhodey moves to hug Pepper. He turns away as their hands linger at each other's waists, trying to give his friends some semblance of privacy. He doesn't miss the soft kiss Pepper presses to the corner of Rhodey’s mouth with tears glimmering in her bright eyes.

“Just Boston,” Tony repeats to himself, feeling slightly numb. “It's not like that's all the way in fucking Massachusetts.”

“Don't be so dramatic, Tones,” Rhodey sighs, still holding Pepper’s arm. “It's only like four hours away.”

“Yeah but it's across the fucking country,” Tony insists petulantly.

“It’s not across the country—”

“And it's not like you're going to have a ton of time,” Tony continues, “with orientation and then classes and whatever weird hazing bullshit you macho military people like to do in ROTC and all the new friends you're going to make and you're totally going to forget me—”

“I'm not going to forget you, Tony. Don't be ridiculous.”

Tony sighs.

Behind them, Rhodey’s parents are finishing up loading the car with the rest of Rhodey’s things. Despite Tony’s offer of letting them take the SI jet, they had politely declined, wanting to drive their only son to college, even as Tony shudders at the idea of driving four hours. They’re loading in the final suitcase and it’s almost time. Tony’s best friend is leaving.

“Please take care of him,” Rhodey is saying to Pepper. “Make sure he doesn't get into too much trouble.”

“Hey,” Tony protests weakly. “I resent that, Rhodey-bear. I keep things fun around here.”

Rhodey and Pepper had both ignore him. “Besides, I'll come back for winter break,” Rhodey says. “You'll see me again in just a couple of months. They'll fly by in no time.” He grins widely, looking very proud of himself. “Get it? _Fly_ by?”

Tony stares him down and replies drily, “That was horrible, you ROTC nerd.”

Tony cannot believe that Rhodey hasn't even been enlisted yet and he's already cracking bad Air Force jokes. He takes a deep breath and bites back his pleas again. He doesn't guilt trip him by wailing that he will never survive senior year without him. He doesn't drop to his knees to cling to his leg. He was told, under no circumstances, are any of these things okay to do, especially not to Rhodey. Damnit, Pepper.

Tony is so proud of Rhodey. He graduated as valedictorian of his year and now he’s off to MIT on full scholarship, and he’s going to join the Air Force afterwards. Rhodey already has a plan for his life, and he’s well on his way to achieving all of it. Tony honestly can not be more proud of his best friend, go best friend, but he also cannot help the worry that grows heavier by the day, knowing that Rhodey will be hours away and he is going to _leave Tony_.

And there’s the heavy thought that in a few short years, Rhodey is going to be far away, training for combat to possibly be deployed into an active war zone and he’ll be too far from Tony’s reach to save and what if the weapons he builds for SI aren’t enough to keep their own people safe not enough to keep Rhodey safe what if what if what if—

Tony could've graduated early and followed Rhodey to Boston. Why the hell didn’t he think of that? It’s not too late. Another option is finishing his senior year in Boston. It isn't too late to transfer now, is it? It is only the third week of August, he probably still has time and he can probably pay admissions to make it all go faster, and if he grabs his transcripts now and gets his application in before the semester starts—

“Tony!” Rhodey says sharply, snapping him out of his feverish plans. “Come on, man. We've been over this. I know you're thinking about it again. You're going to stay here, finish your senior year, and then you can decide which college you want to attend or if you want to _go to MIT like you had wanted for your whole life._ I'll be right there waiting for you, I promise. Just like we planned, _remember_?”

Yep, Tony nods numbly. The plan. Yes. The plan. The one they've had since childhood. Eight whole years now. Pinky promised and everything. Stick to the plan.

The edge in Rhodey's voice all but screams that under no circumstances is Tony supposed to throw all of his hard work away, but how the fuck is he going to survive without his best friend? They grew up together, thick as thieves since they met in elementary school and now Rhodey is leaving and everyone is growing up and things are changing and nothing will be the same ever again.

Tony is probably hyperventilating, he isn't really sure, but there are black spots dancing at the edge of his vision and there is a long arm pulling him against a soft chest, and it is Pepper, thank god Pepper is still going to be with him for senior year, damn Rhodey for being a whole year ahead of the both of them, goddamnit, he should've applied for early graduation, why didn't he do that, he could've hacked the system to change that old failing grade in freshman Phys Ed, the school records are a fucking joke, he totally could've done it if he was able to get into the Pentagon after a couple of hours that one time when Reed Richards dared him, the school system will be nothing in comparison, and besides most security systems nowadays are a fucking joke, and if he had changed his dumb grade, he wouldn't have had to waste time on another whole fucking year—

Tony is jostled out of his spiraling thoughts by Pepper squeezing him tighter. The sideways look Pepper levels at him was far too knowing, and he tunes back in enough to hear, “don't worry about him, Rhodey. I'll keep him on track, and he'll be fine. We'll see you at Christmas, and we can come visit you during spring break.”

“That sounds good, Pep,” Rhodey says. “I’m going to miss you guys,” he adds and it’s all Tony can do to keep the tears in when Rhodey bites his lip like that, as though he’s about to cry too.

Rhodey looks like he’s about to say something else when Captain Rhodes shuts the trunk of their van with a click that sounds of finality and Mama Rhodes walks over to pull Tony into a tight hug.

“You know you’re both always welcome over with or without Rhodey home,” she says warmly. “Don’t be strangers now.”

Tony inhales sharply and doesn’t have the heart to tell her it won’t be the same without her son there. “I know, Mama, thank you,” he says instead.

She pulls away with a sigh and reaches over to hug Pepper. “We’re about to head out, James,” she says gently to Rhodey, and heads back to the car while he says his goodbyes.

“That's me,” Rhodey says wetly, pulling Tony and Pepper into a tight group hug. “I'll see you both soon. You be good,” he directs this at Tony.

Tony scowls and quickly scrubs his palm over his eyes before pressing a kiss to Rhodey’s cheek. “I'm always good. Have a safe trip, Rhodey-bear. Are you sure I can't just come with you, or pay them to let me graduate, or buy the school, or—”

Rhodey is laughing as the first trickle of tears begin to track down his face. “No, Tony, you can’t buy MIT. I’ll see you soon.” He smiles through his tears as he begins to walk away.

Pepper has to forcibly clamp her hand down on Tony’s wrist to keep him from running after Rhodey. He's two inches away from bawling like a little child and it's ridiculous, he knows. It's only going to be a few months, Tony tells himself as he clings to Pepper. They watch as Rhodey walks towards the car, turning back to wave again before he climbs in. A few very, very long months, and an even longer senior year.

...

The school year starts like any other, the air turning crisp as summer backflips swiftly into fall, the northern fronts bringing wind and lower temperatures overnight. There's the sharp green scent of grass in the air with a red bite of incoming autumn as September dawns, the wind flavored with anticipation and excitement. There is already a thin carpet of orange leaves underfoot, smelling like brown bark and charcoal tinder. They crunch loudly in crackles that echo against the flat asphalt of the concrete jungle.

The first day is disgustingly pinterest colorful, bright and brisk, the perfect fall morning and Tony prays for a swift death. He drags himself to the science labs after Happy drops him off early at the gates with a cheerful, “Have a good day, boss!” and plops inelegantly into a stool in the back of the room. He immediately puts his head down and goes back to sleep.

It's way too fucking early and Tony is not nearly lucid enough to operate at full capacity. His face is mashed against the top of the table and he's probably drooling slightly when he's woken from his doze. The hall outside is filling with other students, chattering inanely about their summers. Tony tries his best to block them out by covering his head with his arms, but suddenly there’s the sharp black smell of coffee and he groggily lifts up his head, sniffing the air.

Pepper is disturbingly awake as she passes Tony his venti americano with three extra shots and slides into the seat next to him. She reaches over to fix his wrinkled collar and tries to finger comb his unruly hair into submission. He submits manfully to her fussing.

“Pepper,” Tony sighs, as he inhales half of his coffee in four gulps. The bitter taste of life sustaining caffeine burns as it slides down his throat, but he’s immediately a little more awake. “Virginia. Pepper-up. Pepto Bismol. Moon of my life. My sun and stars. Have I told you how much I loved you today?”

“Not yet,” Pepper replies with a fondly exasperated smile. “But I think I get the idea. And here—” she hands Tony a pen and spare notebook when she sees that Tony had come to school empty handed, yet again. “We need to have a long talk about forgetfulness.”

Tony isn’t sure whether to scowl or smile like a fool, and he somehow ends up doing both. He’s sure he looks insane, but he can’t stop.

He had been dreading coming back to school all summer, his anxiety skyrocketing after Rhodey left, but he’s eternally grateful he at least has Pepper and their small group of friends.

With Rhodey gone, he only has Pepper, Loki, and Natasha and he can't help but feel a little resentful because while the rest of his friends share a majority of the same classes, the only time he'll see them is during lunch. While everyone else is having an easy time with throwaway classes to round out their senior year, Tony's schedule is jam packed with fucking AP courses thanks to Howard.

He won't see Pepper and Natasha until fourth period lunch and who even knows when he'll see Loki. Loki comes and goes as he pleases and Tony hasn’t seen him in five days. To be fair, Tony probably should not have teased him about how hunky his step brother Thor is. Tony knows Loki will eventually come back around but he is going to pay for that one, he can feel it. He's going to suffer so much.

Thank every deity ever for Pepper though. Smart, caring, gorgeous, beautiful, wonderful, kind Pepper. She is much too good for him and he loves her so much.

“I'm going to give you the world one day,” Tony promises, tucking the pen behind his ear for safekeeping as he gulps down the rest of his coffee.

“I’ll hold you to it,” Pepper replies drily. “You're going to have to remember your own stuff this year. I have to juggle Student Council, Yearbook, Model UN. Tony—”

“I'll be okay, Pepper. But you're just amazing and wonderful and I don't even deserve you—”

Tony is about to preach more of his undying love when the words dry up on his tongue.

Steve Rogers is walking down the hall and he stops at the locker bank right outside the lab. He commands every space he walks through, drawing every eye to him as he walks past. Star quarterback and now newly minted captain of the football team, half of the school worships the ground Steve walks on. Tony can swear a hush falls as he stops in the hall.

Steve glances into the lab and his eyes alight on Tony briefly as he shuts his locker, getting ready to head to his first class. His eyes quickly flick away, expression flattening into something blank and dismissive. Tony scowls, even as he swallows down the uncomfortable feeling of sharp regret he feels every time Steve looks at him like that.

It takes Pepper shoving a very unsubtle elbow into his ribs to snap Tony out of his temporary stupor and he turns to glare at his best friend. “Close your mouth, Tony,” Pepper chides softly. “You’re going to catch flies like that.” Her tone is gentle despite the teasing, but Tony can see the worry in her eyes.

“Aw, are you jealous, darling dearest?” Tony recovers enough to snark. “You know you’ll always be my favorite.”

Pepper snorts. “I bet you tell everyone that.”

“Nope,” Tony replies, fluttering his lashes. “Only you.” He leans over to smack a big wet kiss on Pepper’s cheek, and Pepper gracefully takes it, quietly sighing in exasperation.

...

“I want to _die_ ,” Tony groans as he flops face first onto his bed.

“We didn’t even start cleaning yet,” Natasha points out. “Don’t be so dramatic. You're asking to be buried alive in this pigsty,” she says as she gingerly picks her way through Tony's room, trying her best to evade the piles of dirty laundry and disassembled motherboards.

“Good, I can't wait,” Tony mumbles into his pillows. “No one cleans on a Friday night. We should be having a party. Or at the very least taking advantage of dear old dad being out of town and invading his liquor stores. Or doing lines of cocaine or something. Like our other classmates. Instead, we’re doing what? Cleaning my room. We’re so fucking boring.”

“There will be no wild cocaine parties in this house,” Jarvis says as he walks in with armfuls of boxes for the things Tony is going to donate. “The powder will be a pain to clean and I’m getting old.”

“Aw, J,” Tony pouts. “You're ruining all the fun.”

“I am quite sure you'll survive,” Jarvis says drily as he leaves. “There will be no _Us Weekly_ front page scandals on my watch.”

“That was one time,” Tony protests.

“You’ll feel better when you’re more organized because this is ridiculous,” Natasha murmurs as she tries to navigate around his piles of garbage. She says something else in Russian Tony doesn't catch as she flicks a dirty sock off of his chair. Her mouth a moue of distaste as she sits, surveying Tony's hoarders paradise from her throne. “How did you even let it get this messy? How do you find anything like this?”

“Everything is exactly the way it's supposed to be,” Tony replies, pulling a blanket over his head. “I can find everything like this. Besides, we just survived the first week of senior year. It's nap time.”

After a stretch of silence that is far too long not to be suspicious, Tony pokes his head out of his blanket to glare over at Natasha, Natasha who is—on _his_ phone.

“What are you doing?” he squawks, vaulting over his bed to snatch it back.

Natasha looks unfazed as he grabs the phone and lifts one shoulder in an unapologetic shrug. “Texting Loki to come help,” she replies calmly. “You don't have to hide your phone from me. There's nothing in it I haven't seen before. And I already knew about the sneaky photos you have of Ste—”

Tony makes a loud abortive noise to cut her off. He really needs to update his phone security. Maybe build a new one and finally stop using mass market garbage. Or maybe it’ll be easier to just disown Natasha. She is far too quick and sneaky and he clearly needs to keep a closer eye on her.

“Loki is mad at me,” Tony says dismissively, pocketing his phone. “He's not going to come help me clean when he's still angry about the brother thing.”

Natasha shrugs again. “That was a dick move, Stark,” she says, and Tony knows Pepper would agree if she was here. He can't help but feel a little ganged up on. “Knowing you wouldn't apologize anytime soon, I did it for you. Also, I promised Loki you are going to buy him his favorite dessert and pay for dinner tonight.”

Tony groans. He does kind of feel bad but he doesn't know if he feels _traveling all the way to the other side of the city_ bad. “Can we Seamless the pie or do they still live in the nineteenth century?”

“Nope, and Happy has the night off. We might even have to take the subway,” Natasha replies cheerfully.

“Worst sleepover ever,” Tony mutters, flopping back onto his bed. “That's why Pepper is my favorite. That was until she left me with you wolves for yearbook. Why do you all hate me?”

It's not actually all too bad, but Tony will never admit that, not even under pain of death. He's entitled to his very, very infrequent bouts of dramatics. Honestly, he's only ever slightly dramatic like once every three years, he swears.

They end up bribing the diner they love to deliver them pies and burgers, and they spread out the bounty on a free space they clear up on Tony's floor. Tony feels the knot in his chest loosen for the first time since Rhodey left as he eats soggy fries and greasy burgers with his friends amongst piles of dirty clothes and computer parts. Afterwards, he snuggles up against Natasha as she fingercombs his hair and puts his feet in Loki’s lap. He feeds Natasha fries and calls Loki every affectionate nickname he can can think of to make up for his earlier transgression.

“This doesn't make us friends,” Loki says. “I'm only putting up with you for your money.”

“Aw, Rock of Ages, you wound me,” Tony pouts. “I thought I was going to be the trophy wife in this relationship. Since your dad has way more money than mine, and even after you split it with Thor, you can still be the sugar daddy here.”

Loki thinks about it for a moment, his eyes gleaming speculatively as he leers at Tony. “You’re not nearly pretty enough to be a kept boy.”

Tony clutches at his chest dramatically. “Ouch, you wound me. I’ll have you know I’m an incredible catch. Brains as well as beauty. And an inheritance to a weapons company with a buffet of stock options all bundled up in one amazing package. Military liaisons sold separately.”

“Humble too,” Natasha adds, accepting another fry from Tony’s hand.

“Don’t be jealous,” Tony says, pulling her close. “All three of us can be together. _Forever_.”

“Hmm… pass. I would rather be alone.”

“That’s no fun, Nat.”

Later, Natasha paints Tony’s toes as he braids Loki’s hair, and Tony tries not to think too much of his earlier sadness. They chat and banter and eat pie and ice cream, and Tony thinks wonderingly of how he got so lucky with his friends, that these people are willing to put up with him at all.

It is honestly, a pretty good time. Eventually, they get some cleaning done, enough to make a sizeable dent in the amount of junk Tony hoards.

Natasha and Loki pack up most of the electronics Tony doesn't use anymore for donation, despite his protests that they can be cannibalized for parts. They sort through his stacks of books and papers and comes up with boxes of outdated texts for recycling and old textbooks to give to the library. They clear out most of his enormous closet and help sort his clothes and shoes and boxes of miscellaneous crap into piles of Keep, Donate, and Burn.

By the end of it, they have three large cartons of old things Jarvis is going to take to Goodwill in the morning, and Tony can actually see his floors again. Huh, look at that. He had forgotten there’s carpet underneath all the junk. Maybe Nat is right. He does feel kind of better.

…

Almost every Friday of autumn going into winter is reserved for football, and Tony fucking hates it. He's not sure why anyone cares so much to watch a bunch of lugheads running around a field scurrying after a weirdly shaped ball, no matter how nice of a view their asses in spandex tights might be.

Even Loki gets infected with school pride by the mid season game, probably because his stepbrother Thor is on the football team, but Tony doesn't have a drop of team spirit in his blood. Friday afternoons are spent in high expectation of the night to come, especially if their team is playing someone important, and Tony sits blankly through the lunchtime conversations, not paying one bit of attention.

He tucks his head down and chips away at his MIT application bit by bit and eyes the Boston apartment rental website contemplatively. He has more important things to think of than football. Tony, personally, has a few hangups about the football team anyways. Namely, one captain in particular.

By the time playoffs roll around, everyone is abuzz with excitement and the halls are decked in blue and red. The whole student body always attends the first finals game. It's just one of those things and even Tony isn't immune to such a stupid tradition, not when Loki is dragging him bodily along.

“Come on, you useless cretin,” Loki snarls as Tony hangs limply from his clutch. “You're awfully heavy for someone so fucking puny.”

“Not puny,” Tony corrects, slumping further against Loki. “Fun sized.” He wants nothing more than to stay in the lab and work on his robotics project. Sports are stupid and pointless.

“Fucking dead is what you'll be soon,” Loki replies, merciless, yanking hard at his arms. “We're going to be late for the game. The only seats left are probably the highest sections now, and it's all your fault.”

“I don't want to go,” Tony says, not petulantly at all. “I didn't wear my team gear. Didn't take you one to be so eager for football either. Wouldn't you much rather go host a seance or something, Hocus Pocus?” He gives Loki’s wide brim hat and all-black attire a pointed look. Loki is wearing a dress and pointed boots to a football game and they call _Tony_ the dramatic one?

“You are insufferable, you wastrel,” Loki groans. “We are going to the game, and that's that.”

“ _Wastrel_.” Tony gasps with delight. “Keep that up and I'm going to start thinking that you like me, Snape, with all of these affectionate nicknames,” he says, trying not to look like he's buying time as he searches for an escape route. “In answer to that, the feeling is mutual.” He flutters his eyelashes.

“Disgusting,” Loki replies through gritted teeth.

“I know you're only going because Thor is playing,” Tony says. He’d still stalling for time, but the more he thinks about it, the less he actually minds going to the game. Steve isn't the _only_ one on the team after all, he has plenty of other things to look at, and the world certainly doesn't revolve around Steven fucking Grant Rogers, not that Tony cares about him one tiny bit. “What is he? Goalie?”

“ _Linebacker_ , you uncultured swine,” Loki says, looking like he's about to tear his own hair out.

Tony bites back his grin. Yep, there is so much more to football than just Steve. This is already looking to be kind of fun.

The bleachers are tightly packed by the time they arrive, and they probably would've been standing at the back if Pepper and Natasha hadn't saved seats for them. They wade through the crowd to get to their friends, Tony clutching tightly at his bag of warm popcorn and Loki glaring down any poor souls who have the audacity to accidentally get in their way.

Excitement is buzzing through the gathered masses in their seats as everyone eagerly waits for the game to begin. The sun has long set and the sharp October night air is inky crisp blue. The stadium is washed in bright white halogens, enormous spotlights that cast everything in cutting clarity with sharp shadows on the edges and there’s a wet breeze in the air that promises rain for the upcoming weekend. The brass band is already playing as the cheerleaders hop and jump and somersault across the field.

Tony leans his head on Pepper’s shoulder and refuses to stand as their team is announced. Pepper takes one of his hands in hers and squeezes softly.

The crowd roars with thunderous blue and red applause as Steve Rogers leads them onto the field. His ridiculous shoulders look even broader underneath the uniform padding, sharply contrasting his trim waist and long legs, and despite his best attempts, Tony can't get himself to stop looking. Steve jogs onto the grass with a jovial wave to the crowd and runs a lap for his adoring fans before immediately heading for the sidelines as the rest of the team follows.

Tony ignores the rest of the players and watches as Steve leans in to hug one of the cheerleaders. Peggy. His girlfriend. She looks so small in his arms, Tony notices. She slots into the crook of his shoulder like she's a puzzle piece made to fit Steve and they're so disgustingly perfect. She laughs prettily at something he says and whispers something in his ear before she pushes away from him. She gives him a soft smile and heads back to her squad, leaving Steve to stand in the middle of the field watching her walk away, expression unreadable.

And just like that, Tony's mood sours and he's only vaguely aware that he's crushing the bag of popcorn in his hands and there's a rip at the bottom now and the kernels are falling out, they’re going everywhere, spilling onto the ground in front of him and Tony—Tony just wants to go home.

Impossibly, Steve somehow catches his eye from across the field. Steve looks like he wants to run over and say something but his jaw clenches and he turns away when Tony doesn't bother lifting his head from Pepper’s shoulder.

Tony remembers a time when they weren't complete strangers. When things were a little easier between them, a little friendlier, a little less like they were separated by a wall of ice. Tony's heart twists, the bitter taste of regret welling in the back of his throat.

Years ago, they could have probably been more than what they are now: distant acquaintances at most, and perfect strangers on the best of days. But that time has long passed. Yet, Steve still sneaks Tony all of these strange looks when he doesn’t think Tony is looking that make the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

The look is always sad and forlorn and slightly accusatory all at once, as though there’s some vitriol on the tip of his tongue but Steve can’t get himself to vocalize the words, before it fades into a shuttered mask of practiced blankness. Tony doesn’t know what Steve's fucking problem is, but if he's not going to say whatever it is he wants to say to his face, Tony doesn't care. He _doesn’t._

The whistle blows and the game starts. It's a brutal game that starts with a jarring clash. It starts off well enough and neither team gives an inch throughout the first half but by halftime their team is crushing the opponent, Steve leading them through each coordinated play.

Tony barely pays any attention to the game, spends the whole time tucked up against Pepper’s side, munching listlessly at what's left of his popcorn. He can't stop thinking about the odd looks Steve is always giving him and he spends the entire last quarter trying to dissect what they can possibly mean.

Their team wins, Tony thinks, but he isn't really sure in the end. There's talk of a party, and Loki is dying to go because Thor will be there, the other footballers will be there, the cheerleaders will be there, even the opposing team will be there.

But it also means Steve will be there. _And Peggy will be there_ , Tony’s brain hisses.

Tony _really_ doesn't care, he's had enough of a night already. He smiles tightly and waves off his friends but Natasha takes one look at him and feigns tiredness too. She takes his hand with a soft, “Oh, _dorogo moi_ ,” and drives him home. He doesn't need be taken care of, not really, but he's grateful all the same.

After the weekend, rumors start traveling through the school like wildfire, not that Tony has been paying attention in particular. He still hears about it because that's all anyone would talk about for all of Monday.

Steve and Peggy are on the verge of breaking up, and newer rumors start spreading that it's because Steve likes someone else, and maybe possibly very definitely because Sandy totally heard it from Karen who heard it from Emily who heard it from Brock that Steve cheated on Peggy.

They seem happy enough to Tony whenever he passes them in the hall, laughing and joking with each other, Steve's arm always casually slung across Peggy's shoulders. They're looking for all the world like they're wildly in love. He tries not to think about the rumors, and how they could've possibly started and ignores them because they're none of his business.

Tony thinks nothing more of the matter and forcibly pushes it from his mind. Not his business, he reminds himself.


	3. Chapter Two

Tony gets his first clue from Loki and he should've had the foresight to leave school then. Leave and run as far away as possible and never come back.

Loki finds him in the labs early one morning before his first class. Tony barely has the presence of mind to do more than grunt in greeting and make grabby hands at the coffee Loki is holding out for him before going back to tinkering at his robotics project after taking a hearty sip. He barely notices that Loki looks a little bit uncertain and uncomfortable of all things, until he suddenly does.

Loki is always self assured, even when he's wrong, and perhaps _especially_ so when he’s wrong. So seeing Loki look unsettled wakes Tony up faster than the coffee, and he can't help but feel a chill crawl down his spine.

“Something wrong, Snape?” Tony asks.

“Okay,” Loki mumbles quietly like he's gathering himself. Loki never mumbles. “Let me just preface this by saying it's not me, it's you.”

That was really not anything Tony could have expected. “Are we breaking up?” he asks, perplexed. He's really not sure what this is about and he's wracking his brain for what he might've done wrong.

Usually his memory is pretty damn good, but at the moment he has no recollection of what he might've done to make Loki look so uncomfortable and he's the guy who usually takes all of Tony's weird quirks and grossness in stride and matches it with his own.

That's why they get along so well, despite their vast differences in personality. They all have their own shit, and really out of everyone, Loki is probably the least likely to judge him, with similar family dysfunction and even more skeletons in bigger closets and money older than Howard can hope to dream of—

The Thor thing was over a month ago, and sure Loki holds a mean grudge, but even he's not this petty. He would've retaliated long ago, if he was going to do so. Usually Loki’s revenge is swift and harsh, and then Loki forgives Tony and they move on. _Usually._

Did Tony do something especially offensive last week? He hasn't a clue and his brain, something that's usually pretty reliable is failing him now and he has no idea what's going on and Loki looks like he's ramping up to say something big—

“I'm just going to say it,” Loki announces imperiously.

“Okay,” Tony hedges encouragingly, waiting. He tries to swallow down his panic before it becomes a full blown fit and moves the coffee out of reach.

“Okay,” Loki echoes. He gives Tony a weird look before reaching into his bag. “I received this in the mail this morning.”

Tony pales when he sees the envelope in Loki’s hand. That cannot be what he fucking thinks it is.

The simultaneous feelings of jarring shock and gut wrenching panic leave him lightheaded. That letter should never have seen the light of day, it should be rotting at the back of his closet. It definitely should _not_ be clutched in Loki's hand now, mocking him that of course, his computers would never fail him but something as simple as _a piece of paper_ can fell his empire. Pen is mightier than the microchip and all that.

There are five letters. They were written so long ago, when Tony was young and stupid and had dumb ideas about love. They were never meant to be read, never meant to be sent out. So now comes the million dollar question: how did Loki even get that letter? And if Loki has his—where are the other four?

It takes everything in Tony to keep from bolting for the door and running home to check the old silk hatbox but the burning pit in his stomach tells him enough. He won't find them there. He should’ve set them on fire as soon as he wrote them, why was he so stupid and sentimental, he’s such an idiot, his life is over now, everything is out there, oh god—

“Okay, Abracadabra,” Tony says slowly, trying not to lose his shit. “I can explain.”

“Okay,” Loki says, raising one elegant brow.

“Okay,” Tony echoes and takes a deep wobbly breath. “I wrote these when I was young and stupid.” He pauses. “Young _er_ and stupid _er_. I had these—romantic notions. My mom showed me letters Howard wrote to her and I was inspired. So I wrote some letters of my own. I would write one when I developed a new crush but I never sent any of them. They were just catharsis, my way of letting go of my romantic feelings for the people I write about and they’re not meant to be read by anyone. Yours was written impulsively. No big deal. They don't mean anything,” he adds, clamping his mouth shut before his rambling really takes off.

It's not really a lie. Most of the letters really are meaningless by this point.

“Ouch,” Loki says, but there's a smirk of relief lifting the corners of his lips. “Meaningless? So you don't think,” he glances at the letter with a raised brow, “my hair shines like onyx in moonlight and my wit viper swift?”

“That’s not what the letter says.”

“You should be lucky to be in love with someone like me,” Loki scoffs.

Tony rolls his eyes and tugs Loki forward for a hug. Loki sighs dramatically before wrapping long arms around him. “Of course,” Tony says. “I'm obviously still in love with you. Always will be.”

Loki snorts softly and pulls away. “Alas, you are simply not my type, but we probably could have taken over the world together.” He reaches over to gently pat Tony's face, long fingers trailing down his cheek. Tony turns his head to press a kiss against Loki’s palm and the smile that curves Loki’s lips is soft but genuine, and full of something that looks almost like regret.

“Now, you said letters,” Loki continues. “Plural. Who else did you write to?”

Tony hesitates for a moment before he replies. He sees no reason to hide anymore, not if what he fears is true. If the letters had gotten out, Loki will find out sooner or later anyways.

“Janet van Dyne,” Tony says.

Loki makes a noise of consideration. “Who else?”

“Ty Stone.”

“Oh, yikes.”

“You.”

“Probably the best one on the list,” Loki says. “I suppose your taste isn’t _entirely_ bad.”

“Pepper—”

“Fucking hell—”

“And… Steve Rogers.”

Loki doesn't say anything for a long time, and Tony hates the look he sees on his friend’s face. It's one part pity and two parts sadness. “Oh, Stark,” Loki finally sighs, and really, those two words say it all.

“Yeah,” Tony mutters, turning away.

“Let’s hope this was a fluke,” Loki says with false cheer neither of them believe. Dread settles heavy in Tony’s belly as Loki tries valiantly to comfort him. “Perhaps I was the only one who got my letter.”

He is not the only one to get his letter.

Janet texts him sometime during second period. “ _Just got your letter. Paper? Very retro. And I'm flattered hun but I don't do long distance and you said you would never move to Malibu :( btw Hank says hi._ ”

“ _Too bad._ _Howard is arranging our betrothal with your dad as we speak. Hank can join, I don't mind. Hi, Hank._ ”

“ _Lol good to see you haven't changed, Tony. It's been too long. Let's catch up the next time I'm in NYC and you can explain to me why I suddenly got a love letter written by you right after summer camp._ ”

“ _An influx of new hormones at the time? Too much camp koolaid? Onset malaria? I knew I shouldn't have eaten that mushroom I found in the forest._ ”

By the time fourth period lunch rolls around, Tony is frantically unloading his textbooks from his locker into his bag. He's going home before something else happens. He is _not_ going to deal with this. He figures maybe he can call Rhodey now and cry and start heading for Boston. He's not running away. He's not! He's just going to see Rhodey. Yep. Rhodey, his bestest friend in all the world.

Until he remembers one of the letters were addressed to Pepper, and he remembers Rhodey and Pepper’s lingering touches and _fuck,_ he fucked up so badly. He cannot possibly hurt his two best friends like this, what the fuck is wrong with him? He needs to leave, as far away as possible. Maybe Canada? Russia? He hears Siberia is nice this time of year.

“Tony?”

Oh fuck. _Oh_ fuck. _Oh_ **_fuck_**.

Tony briefly assesses his locker to see if he can fit inside of it (he cannot) and pretends to closely examine the contents, ignoring the call of his name. It's not until he feels a hand on his shoulder before he flinches and slams the door shut a little too loudly. The clang of metal echoes in the empty hallway. He doesn't want to turn.

“Tony?” the voice says again.

Tony swallows heavily. _Stark men are made of iron_.

“Rogers,” he says to the front of his locker. The paint peeling at the edge of his locker door is so fascinating, it's shaped just like Maui and with the oncoming winter and cold that's creeping down from further north, maybe he should consider moving to—extended visiting—a tropical island instead of Siberia.

“Tony, can we please talk?” Steve asks, and Tony wishes he would stop saying his name so plaintively.

“Sure thing,” he replies mildly, still refusing to turn. “I'll pencil you in for Friday at three. Next year. Scratch that, maybe in fifty years. I'm super duper booked until then so if you'll excuse me—”

He hears Steve sigh. “Tony, please.”

Tony finally, and very reluctantly turns. Steve is there standing behind him with a determined set to his jaw, holding that damned letter. Tony wants to reach out and grab it from his hand and burn it but it's far too late for that.

“What is this about?” Steve asks, holding up the envelope and sure, burning it might not make Steve unread it, but it would feel so fucking good to have it gone.

“April fools?” Tony tries and he can slap himself for saying something so stupid when all Steve does is raise an incredulous brow at him as though saying, _try again_. “My clone wrote it? I was framed? I was hacked?” The eyebrow climbs ever higher into Steve's hairline with each ridiculous thing Tony says as Steve patiently waits for him to get it all out of his system.

“I was—”

“Did you mean it?” Steve finally interrupts.

Tony considers for a brief moment of lying, and telling Steve that this is all a prank. Then he remembers the contents of the letter, how much of his heart he had poured out onto those pages, and he knows no one will believe him if he says that. Certainly not Steve. The words are far too earnest, far too honest, far too revealing. None of the other four letters were nearly as heartfelt as this one.

“Don't worry about it, Rogers,” Tony says, trying for levity. “It's not like you're the only one who got one.”

Something in Steve's expression cracks a little for a split second, and if Tony hasn't spent so much time looking at him (a secret he will take to his grave), he would never have noticed. As suddenly as the crack appears, it's gone and Steve is back to looking politely bland and unreadable.

“Who else got one?” Steve asks, his tone placid and flat.

“That's none of your business,” Tony replies, feeling a spark of agitation igniting in his chest. He doesn't even know why he's still having this conversation. He could be halfway home by now. He’s reaching for his phone to text Happy to come get him when Steve's next question stops him with his hand halfway to his pocket.

“Did Pepper get one?” Steve asks, and here his tone sounds off. Strained.

Tony considers not replying to that either but something makes him answer, “Yes, Pepper got a letter too.”

Steve's jaw clenches tight as he nods. “So the letters are real.”

The spark of agitation ignites into flame. “It doesn't fucking matter, Rogers,” Tony says, all but baring his teeth. “Your letter was written a long time ago—”

“Last year,” Steve says. He's not looking at Tony anymore but staring at the letter in his hand. “You wrote this last year. I can tell, from the things you said, the events you mentioned.”

“So fucking _what_?” Tony snarls, tired of this conversation. He wants to leave right the fuck now. “It doesn't matter anymore,” he adds for good measure, but the words telling Steve the letter doesn't mean anything stick in his throat and refuse to budge. He deflects. “You're with Peggy now. It doesn't matter. The letter does not matter.”

“Peggy and I broke up,” Steve says.

Every gear in Tony's brain freezes and locks, grinding to an abrupt halt. So the rumors are true. He supposes that's why Steve has been moping around in the hallways for the entirety of October.

“We broke up a few weeks ago and we’re just friends now,” Steve continues. His voice is sad and regretful and the lost expression on his face twists painfully at Tony's heart. He obviously cares a lot for Peggy. “But of course, I'm not going to get between this thing you have with Pepper.”

“There is no _thing_ between me and Pepper, _at all_ ,” Tony croaks. He holds up his hands to stop Steve from saying anything else when he opens his mouth again. “And there never will be,” he says firmly. “Pepper is one of my best friends and I'm not going to get between her and Rhodey.”

“Her and—” Steve stops. “Oh.”

“Yeah, _oh_ ,” Tony repeats sardonically. “I might love Pepper but I know we'll never be right for each other. Not that it's any of your business. The last thing I want to do is hurt any of my friends.”

“Gosh, Tony, I'm so sorry.” The kicker is that Steve really _does_ sound sorry, like he feels bad that Tony isn't going to get a happily ever after but Tony has long gotten used to that idea already, and he does not need Steve Rogers pitying him.

“Yep,” Tony says blithely. “Now, if that’s all—”

“Tony,” they hear at the end of the hallway before Tony can leave. “What is the meaning of this letter? Tony!”

Tony quietly swears up a blue streak when he realizes it's Pepper and he really doesn't want to deal with this right now. Everything is such a mess, he's going to hurt her and Rhodey one way or another, and they're going to realize it's not worth it to be his friend, he's too much effort, he's too messy, he's too selfish, she probably read the letter already, he can hear the confusion and regret in her voice, and oh god why did he ever write those letters he's so dumb and stupid and childish to do something so ridic—

He heaves a great sigh and does the only thing he can think of to avoid the Pepper conversation. Just as she's rounding the corner, he reaches out and grabs the front of Steve's shirt with both hands and drags him forward. Steve yelps in surprise as Tony forcibly brings him closer. Before he can rethink it, or give it any thought at all, he's pulling Steve in and standing up on the tips of his toes and he's _kissing Steve._

All he can think is, _wow, Stark, this is a new low_.

Now Tony has a lot of things in his life that he regrets doing, starting with ever thinking he could live up to Howard's expectations to writing the very letters that led up to him giving Steve Rogers his first kiss, just so he can avoid talking to his best friend. If mess isn't his middle name by now, he doesn't know what is.

Steve is surprisingly compliant, even leaning into Tony and pressing him up against the locker and bracketing him with his huge arms. And the kiss, it's surprisingly _good_. A little clumsy when their noses bump together and at some point, he knocks his forehead against Steve but everything melts away as Tony focuses on the press of their lips.

He gets lost in the feeling of Steve surrounding him until he hears the soft inhalation of shock from Pepper when she finally sees them. There’s a slight pause and Tony refuses to lift his head, screwing his eyes shut and leans further into Steve until he hears the click of Pepper’s shoes as she quickly walks away.

Tony immediately pulls away from Steve, cold settling at the base of his spine when the gravity of what he's done sets in. “ _Fuck_ ,” he whispers, rubbing a hand across his face.

“Tony,” Steve tries again, sounding breathless. There he goes saying Tony’s name with that tone again.

Tony ducks away from him, still pointedly avoiding his eyes.

“So, that was nice,” Tony says flippantly. “Thanks for that. But I uh, really gotta go. Dear old dad has something for me. Emergency Stark business. Important Stark Industries stuff. Yep. Super urgent SI thingamabob,” he adds before clamping his mouth shut against the rising urge to ramble. “I'll see you later, Rogers.”

He nods decisively and hightails it out of there before Steve can reply. He breaks into a run as soon as he rounds the corner, bringing Happy up on speed dial.

Tony’s Twitter notification dings just as he steps out onto the sidewalk and with a frustrated groan, he flicks the app closed before his eyes can linger too long on the photo someone already posted of him and Steve kissing in the hall.  

…

The diner Tony asks Steve to meet him at is a little hole in the wall in Brooklyn, a real neighborhood joint. It’s the one that Maria had taken him to a couple of times during some of her good days. The shabby rundown little coffee shop is the same as it was years ago. Everything is still beige and the floors are still stained and the vinyl booths are still cracked.

The jukebox is still perched in the corner by the long sprawling counter, quietly humming away as a slow ballad plays from the tinny crackling speakers. He makes a quick stop to drop a quarter into the machine, flicking through the selection until he finds The Supremes.

He remembers sitting in one of the corner booths with his mother and Jarvis. This is a place where she had felt comfortable enough to shed her public mask, and settled back into the comfortable skin of Maria Carbonell for a few precious hours before she had to be Maria Stark, public figure, socialite, and wife of Howard Stark of the Stark Industries fortune again.

This was where she laughed freely as she affectionately called Tony _bambino_ and let him have waffles and ice cream for dinner. Where she gave him quarters for the jukebox and bopped her head to “You Can't Hurry Love.” Where her touch was warmer and her smiles were brighter. Where she sighed and told Jarvis who looked very sad when she said, “just give me another minute and I'll be ready to leave, Edwin.”

Tony pushes the overwhelming nostalgia away and focuses instead on the task ahead of him. Operation: Convince Steve Rogers. Steve is already sitting at a booth in the back nursing a cup of coffee. There's a full pot with an empty cup and half a sandwich in front of him.

“Alright, Rogers,” Tony says as he slides into the bench seat across from Steve. He whips the sunglasses he's wearing off his face and places them on the tabletop. His fingers tap a nervous staccato rhythm on the formica and he has to forcefully will himself to stop. Steve waits patiently for him to talk.  

After carefully considering his sunglasses for a moment, Tony snatches them up and puts them back on, not knowing who might be in the diner watching and listening. The shades also help deflect the Sullen Steve Stare directed at him. Steve should consider trademarking his very specific look of determined disapproval, as though he doesn’t find Tony the least bit endearing.

“I have a proposition,” Tony finally says.

“A proposition?” Steve asks, sounding amused. The Sullen Steve Stare melts away into a small smile as he leans forward. “Well hello to you too. This feels like a spy exchange”

“Yep,” Tony replies. “Top secret and all. Happy is on your six and I have a Dragunov across the street waiting on my signal if this doesn’t go as intended. Red dot on your forehead and everything.”

“Someone's been playing too many war games,” Steve says lightly but he does turn around to greet Happy in the booth behind him, and Happy the traitor actually smiles cheerfully and says hi back.

Tony laughs hollowly. “I don't have time to play video games. I’m way too busy building actual weapons of mass destruction for Howard in my spare time.”

“Tony.” There's the pity in Steve's voice again, and Tony has had enough of that from him for this lifetime.

“Let's get down to business,” Tony says brusquely before Steve can say anything else. “As I was saying, proposition. I think we can help each other, Rogers.”

“Help each other?” Steve asks with a raised brow. “Help each other with what?”

Tony takes a deep breath. “First, I would like to apologize for accosting you in the hallway yesterday. I was in a state of panic and I didn't know what else to do and the last thing I want to do is hurt Pepper and Rhodey.” And Pepper and Rhodey say he needs to work on owning his mistakes. Character growth, happening right here.

Steve shrugs. “I figured as much. Which was why I didn't just shove you away,” he points out archly. He pours Tony a cup of coffee from the pot.

“Right,” Tony nods, staring blankly at the cup Steve places in front of him. “Thanks for that. But anyways. Proposition time. Here's my offer: we pretend we're dating until I can successfully play it off that this whole letter thing was a mistake. And that Pepper’s letter meant absolutely nothing, because obviously, out of all the people who got letters, I ‘chose’ you. I’m not going to get between her and Rhodey. So then we ‘break up’ and Pepper and I can go back to being friends, and everything goes back to normal. I'll of course pay you for your help, just name your price.”

Steve doesn't say anything for a long time. He simply stares into his cup of coffee as Tony talks and just as Tony is starting to get irritated, he says, “I don't want your money and that plan makes no sense.”

“Yes it does,” Tony says, scowling. “Come on, Rogers, follow along here. It makes perfect sense and it's the best way to avoid all around hurt. And you didn't hear the best part of this proposition.”

“Which is what?” Steve asks in a tone that very much says he would like to leave.

“If you don't want money,” Tony says, “that's not fair to you. So I'll even it out by helping you too. I'll help you get back together with Peggy!”

Steve looks startled. “That's not—”

“The plan is perfect, see,” Tony interrupts excitedly, ignoring the vise squeezing his heart. “You help me fix this awkward state with my friends by fake dating me so they can see the letter to Pepper is meaningless and I help you get back together with the love of your life! It's so simple. It's ingenious. We get together, it makes Peggy a little bit jealous, and she realizes she can't live without you, and she’ll beg for you to go back to her.”

“Tony—”

“I know, I know,” Tony says flippantly. “It's not all that simple, right? I'm sure there are probably things you need to work on to show that you've changed and you can be a better boyfriend now.”

“I guess,” Steve says quietly. “Peggy always said I was a really bad boyfriend. She says I didn't pay enough attention, and I never did any of the little small romantic things for her. I was too focused on the grand gestures. But—”

“So we’ll work on those things!” Tony says excitedly. “It's like a get out of jail free card for me, and a relationships crash course for you. We both win.”

“Why don't you just ask one of your other friends to do this, Tony?” Steve asks, sounding exasperated. “Wouldn't that be more believable?” He looks tired and slightly defeated and Tony can tell he's almost convinced. He's going to say yes.

Tony snorts. “Like who? Loki? Natasha? Don't be ridiculous. Pepper and Rhodey would never believe any of us could date. Any combination with the people I mentioned would be a disaster. We would kill each other, or more likely they would kill me. Besides, Pepper saw _us_ kissing in the hall.” He doesn't say how Steve might possibly be the _only_ person his friends believe got a genuine letter.

“And,” he continues before Steve can answer, sliding his phone across the table and tapping the screen to wake it up, “we’re trending on Twitter. It’s humiliating for both of us now if we don’t do this. The whole school already knows. The whole goddamn city knows. We can pretend to date for a few weeks, maybe a few months max, and then we amicably break up and everything will blow over. I get to keep my friends without fucking things up and you get Peggy back.”

Steve doesn't say anything for a long time. He looks like he’s chewing lemons. The coffee between his hands is cold now and he still hasn't touched the remaining half of his sandwich.

“Fine,” Steve finally mutters, his clenched jaw a strained line of tension. “We'll try this.” He drops a crumpled twenty on the table and leaves before Tony can say anything else.

…

“We are going to set some boundaries,” Tony says the next day.

He feels like he's doing something illegal and illicit as Steve sneaks into the car at nine at night on a Sunday. Happy discreetly keeps the blackened divider up so they can have their privacy but it feels extra ridiculous because they’re parked behind a copse of trees at a park near Steve's house. In _Brooklyn._ Tony hunkers down in the backseat to keep out of sight in case anyone walks by.

Steve is watching him with reserved amusement. “What kind of boundaries?” he asks trepidatiously. “I’m obviously not going to push you to do anyth—”

“Here,” Tony interrupts, not listening. He’s glad Steve seems to be in a much better mood about the situation, but there are things they need to clear up. He shoves a tablet into Steve’s hands. “Sign here, here, here, here, and here, and initial in these spots.” He helpfully points to them with the tip of his pen.

“Tony, what is this?”

“The first five pages are a contract I had my lawyers draw up to include all the clauses of our agreement. And the very last page is an NDA. That’s the most important one.”

“NDA?!”

“Yes, a non-disclosure agreement,” Tony says mildly, tapping his pen against the tablet screen. “Absolutely no one else must know this relationship is not real. None of our friends, none of our families, none of our pets, I mean absolutely _no one_. Neither of us will survive the humiliation if this gets out.”

“Tony…” Steve sounds exasperated.

“Look, Rogers,” Tony says, not unkindly. “It’s not that I don’t trust you not to spill all my secrets to the press and sundry but I really can’t take that risk. Especially not with college next year, and my dear old dad breathing down my spine about keeping a squeaky clean image for Stark Industries. It’s nothing personal. It’s just business. Now, please _sign_.”

Steve is swiping through the pages with increasing incredulity. There’s the Sullen Steve Stare complete with creases in his brow as he reads.

“ _Neither party shall engage in physical contact below the rectus abdominis or above the vastus medialis in any circumstances, nor shall they perform hand holding of any kind unless bystanders or other witnesses are present… Neither party shall engage in casual physical contact, unwarranted, incidental or consequential that may be deemed as affectionate or familiar unless bystanders or other witnesses are present_ … Only mutually approved posts on social media… No kissing… Wow, this is a lot. Tony, how are we supposed to sell this relationship if we don’t even touch?”

“The clause is that we only touch when there are others who can see,” Tony explains. “What’s the point of being touchy feely in private?”

“And no kissing?” Steve’s voice sounds a little off. He’s probably grossed out at the idea of kissing Tony, but he’s going to do it for the sake of their charade anyways.

“We can kiss on the cheek,” Tony amends, thinking it over. It would probably benefit them to show a little affection to really sell their fake relationship. He takes the tablet back to add to the document.

“Fine,” Steve sighs. “Since you have so many stipulations, I’d like to add my own. If we're going to do this, we're going to do it right.”

“What kind of stipulations?” Tony asks suspiciously.

“Nothing as crazy as what you listed,” Steve says gently. Tony is not consoled by his tone. “One is, you must attend all my games and the after parties.” He ignores the face Tony makes.

“We always sit together during lunch. We can divide the time in half with some days at the team table, and other days with your friends.” He ignores the second face Tony makes. He is beginning to think they are going to make very bad boyfriends if Steve _keeps ignoring him_.

“We have ‘date nights,’” Steve continues, actually makes air quotations by crooking his fingers. Tony doesn’t find that endearing. It’s downright dorky. “We use that time to learn about each other, so no one can tell we’re not actually dating.” Tony grimaces at the thought of having to spend time with Steve alone.

“Anything else?” Tony asks, rolling his eyes to cover up the way he’s suddenly much more excited and far more terrified of this whole idea as he adds the ridiculous requests to the document.

“I’ve also decided I will write you at least two notes every day,” Steve says. Tony blinks at him blankly. “Peggy always said I wasn’t romantic enough, so I figured I should practice doing things like write love notes,” Steve explains, shrugging, and the slightly uncomfortable look creeps back onto his face.  

Tony can’t help but feel a little flutter in his stomach at the idea of the last part before he sharply reminds himself that whatever notes Steve writes him are not real. He’ll probably be thinking of Peggy when he writes them. Tony swallows the bitter taste on his tongue and looks away to focus on the tablet in his lap. “Sure,” he says, trying his best to keep his voice blank.

“One more thing,” Steve says. “We go on the senior trip together.”

Tony pauses. “That’s in February. Do you really think we have to put on this show for that long?”

Steve shrugs and says simply, “Just in case.”

“Fine,” Tony concedes and adds it to the document. “Are we happy, Rogers? Yes? Okay, hooray.”

“Wait, just one last _last_ thing,” Steve says. “You can't keep calling me by my last name. That's really weird for people who are dating. You need to start calling me by my actual name.”

“I call people weird names all the time,” Tony protests. “How about snookums? Honeybunny? Sweetcheeks? Okay fine,” he concedes at the return of the Sullen Steve Stare. He swallows around the rest of the babble bubbling at the back of his throat. “Steve it is.”

Tony hands the tablet back to Steve and watches as he signs on the dotted lines, curving his signature beneath the clause that reads: _This agreement will terminate upon reciprocation of affections by one, Margaret Carter to Steven Grant Rogers, or upon termination of aforementioned union when either party deems it appropriate and necessary citing valid reasoning, or when one or more of the aforementioned clauses and/or limitations are violated, whichever occurs earlier_.

 


	4. Chapter Three

Tony might've found the boggled stares funny if they weren't directed at him, and more specifically, at him and Steve as they walk into school together on Monday. Instead, there are butterflies with lead tipped wings fluttering in his belly, their weight heavy and unwelcome. He should be used to being the center of everyone's attention. He's attended galas and events and press conferences for Stark Industries, been the focus of tabloid speculation, had his photo taken unexpectedly in the streets, but this feels different somehow. Strange, and heavy, and brittle, all at the same time. 

He can tell Steve is vibrating with tension next to him and Steve’s hand is clenched around his in a vise grip. He had assumed that as the star quarterback, Steve would be used to this kind of attention, lavish in it and revel in it, but he's wrong because Steve's spine is rigid military straight and his jaw is clenched so tightly, Tony is worried for his molars. 

Steve's hand is a warm weight in his, and despite the tight grip, just having that touch feels alarmingly comforting, an anchor to his frayed nerves. Tony realizes belatedly that the social media clause in their contract is pointless, because the flurry of posts about them sure aren’t mutually decided by the two of them. Tony is sure that this fake relationship is probably trending on Twitter already, with everyone in the halls holding their phones up pointing shamelessly at the both of them as they walk by. There are several camera flashes as they pass, and the none too subtle whispers of gossip already spreading as fast as the wildfire tweets. They might even have a hashtag by now.  

Tony sighs, knowing the battle is lost, and goes for broke. He rises on his tiptoes as they stop at Steve's locker, and with everyone watching, he presses a kiss to Steve's cheek. He grins wide, paparazzi bright before walking away with a coy, “see ya later, big guy.” 

Steve instantly turns an endearing and rather alarming shade of cherry and Tony has to resist kissing him again. He turns before he gives in to the impulse and tries to ignore the stares as he walks away, Steve’s gaze feeling the sharpest and hottest between his shoulder blades. 

Tony tries to have as normal of a day as possible despite everything but he still feels blindsided when the first note comes because he had somehow forgotten Steve's self-added stipulation. 

He nearly drops the slip of paper that Steve presses into his hand between second and third period in the hall and almost collides into a freshman when he turns whipquick to see Steve hiding a smile behind his hand as they pass. He holds up the paper and looks across the hall at Steve with a raised brow in question, but Steve only winks and adjusts the strap of his bag on his shoulder as he walks away, Tony staring after him this time. 

A _wink_? _Really?_

Tony knows it’s payback for making Steve blush earlier that morning with the parting kiss, and Tony is _not_ blushing now because of the wink, he's not. It's probably a spontaneous onset fever that makes his cheeks feel so hot. That must be it. Weather changing and all. It's fall and his immune system isn't the best. 

Tony leans against his locker and opens the carefully folded note to find it simply says, “I hope you’ll have a nice day today,” surrounded with little doodles of hearts. 

Tony can't quite help the smile that tugs at his lips, and he's sure he looks like an idiot as he all but traipses to his next class. It's so silly, to feel his heartbeat quicken simply because of a couple of words on a piece of notebook paper. Definitely spontaneous onset fever. That's the only possible explanation for his suddenly erratic heartbeat and the strange warmth building in his chest. 

The little note buoys him through his third period class, and he only snoozes a little during the lecture and doesn't even argue the finer points of the Eigenstate Thermalization Hypothesis with his teacher. It's pointless and unkind to argue against idiots anyways. 

He spends the entire class on his laptop fine tuning the behavioral code for his bot, distracted every few minutes by his own traitorous eyes surreptitiously glancing over at Steve's note folded at the corner of his desk. He barely gets more than a couple of lines done before the bell rings. 

Steve is waiting in the hall just outside his physics room when class lets out. The rest of the class stare unashamedly at the both of them as they file past even as Tony stands stockstill in front of his fake boyfriend in the middle of the hall, disturbing the flow of traffic and feeling unsure of himself. The note is still clutched in his hand. He quickly shoves it into his pocket. 

Luckily, Steve isn't stupidly frozen. “Hey,” he says with a bright smile as he slings an arm across Tony's shoulders to pull him close as though they do this all the time. They start walking. “How was class?”

Tony sighs and leans against Steve's shoulder. “Long and painful.”

Steve hums softly. “Sounds about right. C’mon, let's get some food.”

“Food is that way,” Tony says as they walk straight past the cafeteria doors. 

“Do you trust me?” Steve asks, grinning. 

Tony squints at him. “Not one bit.” He wonders a little at Steve’s shift in behavior when just earlier in the day, he seemed cautious about their fake relationship, but Tony ultimately decides not to look the gift stallion in the mouth. He’ll appreciate the (rather thorough) cooperation while he has it. 

The grin grows wider and Steve squeezes his shoulders softly. “I know a place,” is all he says as he leads Tony through the halls and up to the front entrance. 

Steve waves cheerfully at the security guard at the desk who, to Tony's amazement smiles and greets Steve by name as they head out the front doors, “Don't forget to grab me a Pepsi, Steve.”

“You got it, Sandra.”

Students are not usually allowed outside to get lunch and Steve, goody two shoes, never done a thing wrong, perfect football team captain _Steve_ gets to just skip out whenever he feels like it? What the actual fuck? Tony and his friends have been trying to bribe the guards for _years_ to let them even order food to be delivered to the front lobby. Tony stares up at Steve incredulously and that smug little grin curves up even wider as his ridiculous baby blues shine with a mischievous glint. 

“How’d you do that?” Tony blurts out, still confused.

“Do what?” Steve asks mildly.

“Get Sandra to just let you out like that? We’ve been trying for years—”

“I didn’t do anything,” Steve replies.

“Bullshit! Is it the soda? We could’ve gotten her sodas if she wanted but she’s never let my friends and me out of the school gates during lunch, no matter what we offered her,” Tony says.

Steve sighs. “Sandra is my friend,” he says. “The soda is just because she’s doing me a favor. It’s my way of thanking her. I don’t take advantage of this special privilege because I would never want her to get into trouble because of me. It’s not about what you can do for people, or how much you can pay them to do something for you, Tony,” he says, and Tony doesn’t have a reply for that because that’s all he really knows. In his world, everyone has a price. 

They don't end up going very far but the novelty of being able to leave school during fourth period is exhilarating and amazing. The sight of the brightly colored trees in the early afternoon light is extra beautiful and the crunch of dry leaves underfoot is extra satisfying. Even the smoggy city air feels great against Tony’s skin and he feels as though he’s just been released from jail. The bite of the late October chill does little to dampen his spirits despite his lack of a coat. The entire time, Steve keeps his arm wrapped around Tony’s shoulders.

Steve takes him to a little deli at the end of the block. It’s a small squat bodega cramped next to a high end furniture store. The front has a hand-painted sign and there are wooden stands full of slightly wilted flowers near the door. The interior is stocked with overflowing shelves filled with cereal and baby food and cleaning supplies with a wall of clunky old glass faced refrigerators housing endless brands of soda and artisanal waters towards the back. A long counter housing enough candy to make Willy Wonka jealous sits towards the front with a grill somewhere in the far back and a handwritten menu listing sandwiches hangs overhead. Tony shouldn't even be surprised anymore, but the guy behind the counter knows Steve by name too. 

“Heya Steve,” the man says and nods a greeting at Tony, politely not saying anything about the tabloids at the front of his store splashed with Tony's face and family business. “Long time no see.”

“Hi, Ben,” the smile Steve gives the deli owner is warm and bright like the one he had given Sandra. “How’s the family?”

“Everyone’s great, Steve,” Ben replies, leaning against the countertop. “Always good of you to ask. Peter is excitedly looking forward to watching your next game. He really looks up to you.”

Tony can’t help but find the faint blush dusting Steve’s cheeks absolutely adorable. “Aww gee, thanks,” Steve says, fidgeting where he stands. “He must be what? A sophomore now? I see he’s still taking those amazing photos. Peter is Ben’s nephew,” he tells Tony. “He’s really talented. He takes pictures for the school paper.”

“And who’s that you got with you, Steve?” Ben asks, his smile turning curious. 

“Sorry,” Steve says sheepishly. “How rude of me. I haven’t even introduced you two. Tony, this is Ben, and Ben, this is my boyfriend Tony.”

It makes a certain warmth curl in Tony’s chest to hear Steve actually introduce him as his boyfriend, fake or not. It’s fucking ridiculous. “It’s nice to meet you, Ben,” Tony offers, a genuine smile curving his lips. 

“Nice to meet you too, Tony,” Ben replies genially. “Enough of this old man blabbering. You probably have to go back to class soon. What can I get for you? Your usual, Steve?”

Ben apparently makes the best sandwiches north of East Eighty, and Steve hasn't been exaggerating one bit Tony realizes as soon as he bites into his chicken parm. They're sitting on the steps at the Met with the local lunch crowd and tourists alike, watching pigeons fight over crumbs as they tuck into their sandwiches, sharing the warm fries Ben gave them on the house. 

Tony might've been slightly too enthusiastic biting into his, finishing off the whole thing in five messy bites. He can’t help himself, not when there’s such a perfectly crafted delicious sandwich with juicy crisp chicken, perfectly toasted warm bread, and rich creamy provolone in his hands. Now there's cheese and marinara all over his fingers and he's laughing too hard to care about cleaning his hands as Steve tells him the story of how he found Peter stuck pretzeled inside a locker in the team changing room after a practice, apparently having been stuffed in there by some cruel seniors and ended up locked in. 

“The poor kid was in there for probably hours before we came in to change for practice,” Steve is saying. “He never told us who did it but we all had a good idea it was probably Viktor and his merry band of assholes.”

“Oh wow,” Tony says, still chuckling. “Are you sure the kid wasn’t just trying to get nudes of you guys?” he jokes. “The whole team naked at the same time? I'm sure _lots_ of people would pay good money for those.”

Steve smirks and steals Tony's orange soda to wash down his pastrami rye. “If you wanted to see me naked, all you had to do was ask.”

Tony isn't even aware his mouth is hanging open in shock until Steve sticks a fry between his parted lips. He barely recovers enough to say, “Rogers, you absolute deviant. You slattern. This whole Mormon cornfed farm boy facade was all a lie?!”

“Cornfed?” Steve frowns, looking vaguely offended. “I was born and raised in Brooklyn.”

“That's rural enough,” Tony replies. “That's basically the boonies.”

Steve laughs and shakes his head. “Also not Mormon by the way, but thanks, I guess. Glad the disguise is working. They'll never see it coming when I finally reveal my true colors.”

Steve, Tony decides, is a little shit. And Tony—Tony is so very, very fucked. Especially when Steve has the audacity to ask— 

“So are you feeling better?”

Tony looks over at him askance, pausing in the middle of licking his fingers clean. “Don't know what you mean. I've been great all day, honeybun.”

Steve smiles and reaches over to wipe away some sauce from the corner of Tony's mouth. He either doesn't notice or pretends he doesn't notice the way Tony freezes with his breath caught in his throat as his thumb strokes over the curve of Tony's jaw. 

“That's good,” Steve says simply as he withdraws his hand. “I feel much better now that we're out here. I've been trying to adjust all day with all of my newfound fame. I didn't realize any relationship of mine would garner so much attention.” He laughs lightly. Tony squints at him. 

“It's been a bit weird to see people with their phones aimed at me whenever I turned around all day,” Steve continues. “A lot of the posts I saw in the couple of minutes I bothered to go online haven't really been flattering. Figured it would be good to escape for a bit and go outside, get away from the scrutiny for even an hour. It got overwhelming to be in there. Felt like I was surrounded, you know.”

“It's just going to get worse from here,” Tony mumbles. He feels cold all of a sudden, the warmth from his sandwich dissipating with his good mood. He didn't get the chance to grab his jacket before they left school and the autumn wind is ruffling through his hair, sending shivers across his shoulders. “They're ruthless when they find something new to latch onto and they won't let go until they've turned over every stone and ripped everything to shreds.” 

He's seen the new influx of tweets from his classmates and the snaps from acquaintances talking about him and Steve. He's seen how they all wonder why someone like Steve would ever trade the gorgeous cheerleading captain Peggy Carter for snobby rich nerd extraordinaire Tony Stark. Peggy and Steve were a match made in teen romcom heaven, and Tony is well, _Tony_.

He feels a little guilty for dragging Steve into this, but it's going to work out in the end. He's going to make sure of it. He's going to get Peggy and Steve back together, no matter what. 

“We'll be okay,” Steve says after a slight pause. There’s an edge of determination in his voice, and Tony thinks that’s probably good if they hope to get out of this farce alive. He can only imagine the fallout if it ever gets out that this relationship is fake. He doesn’t think he would survive the humiliation and his friends’ reactions, and that's before Howard gets his hands on him. 

Steve must’ve noticed his frown because he reaches over and drags Tony close with an arm around his shoulder. His side is a warm line against Tony’s arm and he settles closer shamelessly, letting the rumble of Steve's voice soothe his rising anxiety. “I'm a fast learner. I'm already adjusting.”

…

Steve, it turns out, is a pretty terrific fake boyfriend. Almost perfect, in fact, to the point where it’s unfair how great he is. He’s kind and considerate and observant and caring and he’s driving Tony insane. 

Tony realizes he’s in way over his head sometime during the second week of their fake relationship. Sometime during the first week, Steve realizes Tony doesn’t eat breakfast and usually just downs a coffee before class. Steve takes it upon himself to start bringing Tony breakfast every day in the labs early every morning. When Tony tries to tell him he’s fine, he’s used to this, he doesn’t have time for a food break when his projects are waiting and the early bell is going to ring at any moment now, the Sullen Steve Stare is applied until Tony concedes. 

Steve starts bringing him bagels, breakfast sandwiches, scones, tupperwares of oatmeal and yogurt bowls. Steve starts bringing him his morning coffees too, apparently after consulting with Natasha on how he takes it. At first, he’s shocked at the three extra espresso shots Tony adds to his coffee, but eventually he understands that Tony is so immune to caffeine at this point, he has to drink battery acid to even feel alive in the mornings. 

On one occasion, he brings Tony a breakfast burrito that tastes so good, his eyes nearly roll into the back of his head at the first bite and he’s sure the sound he makes when he takes his second bite is positively obscene. Tony is wholly impressed with Steve’s skill in making various breakfast foods. 

“Your cooking is incredible,” Tony tells him earnestly, his words muffled around the food in his mouth. 

“Oh,” Steve says, his cheeks slightly pinked. “Ah, I didn’t make that, sorry. I didn’t think you would want me to cook for you so I’ve been going to that diner we met at? The one in Brooklyn, it’s like twelve blocks from my house. I figured you liked that place since it was your suggestion to meet there and the sandwich I had that time was pretty good and Ben’s deli is too crowded in the mornings so I just go get your—“

“ _What—_ “ Tony exclaims, almost dropping the rest of his burrito. 

He can’t believe Steve bothers to take the time every day to walk twelve blocks just to get him breakfast. All to make sure Tony eats. He can’t help but wonder if Steve is treating him so nicely when they aren’t really dating, how could he have said he was a bad boyfriend to Peggy? It’s impossible to think someone like Steve would be anything but amazing and perfect to whoever holds his affection. 

Tony blinks rapidly, the emotions all rushing up at once. There’s a mix of overwhelming awe with a healthy dose of disbelief and then the painful thought that outside of Jarvis, Pepper and Rhodey, no one else has ever cared this much if he eats or not.  

“Tony, is everything okay?” Steve asks, his brow furrowing in confusion. 

Tony shakes his head and pointedly takes another bite. “Wow,” is all he manages to say, hoping fervently that Steve doesn’t notice how much this is affecting him, but Tony is sure that he can probably hear his heart trying to pound its way out of his chest. He turns away so Steve won’t see how fast he’s blinking. 

… 

The hyper focused viral attention on their relationship starts to peter down sometime during the second week. Tony notices fewer phones aimed in their direction and fewer tweets and snaps about them as the days pass. He can tell Steve is relieved now that the attention is shifting away from them, especially when the sharks find a new victim in Brock Rumlow who recently got booted off the wrestling team for drug use. 

Tony relaxes marginally as they become old news. It doesn’t stop Steve from being outwardly affectionate in public, taking the charade personally as though he has something to prove. Besides being ridiculously considerate, Steve is also ridiculously romantic. He walks Tony to all of his classes, presses kisses to his cheek in the halls when they part, and always sits with him for lunch. On the days with nicer weather when they’re not eating with friends, Steve will sneak them both out of school as Sandra gives them knowing looks and he’ll take Tony back to Ben’s deli for sandwiches. They’ll sit on the steps of the Met, people watching as they eat their lunch. 

“Hey, are you free this weekend?” Steve asks suddenly on one such day. It’s a perfect late October afternoon, warm for so late in the year, sunny and golden crisp. 

Tony pauses mid bite and turns to look at him. Steve is gazing out over the crowd, where a group of tourists are posing by the fountain. He watches Steve watch them as they do Fortnite poses for their photo. 

“Uh,” Tony says intelligently, a small burr of suspicion burrowing its way under his skin. 

“I, um, saw that the Museum of Natural History has this new special exhibit on space exploration,” Steve says, still not quite looking at Tony. “I saw it on their website and it made me think of you—I mean, it seems like something you might like. So uh, you know, if you want to go—“

“Oh,” Tony says, catching on. “Our fake dates. You don’t—we don’t really have to do those if you don’t want to, you know.”

Steve scrunches his face a little. “It’s—the exhibit looks interesting. It’s only going to be around for a few weeks, but if you don’t have time, it’s fine—“

“I have a bit of Saturday afternoon free.”

Steve finally fully turns to look at him. “Yeah?”

Tony shrugs. “Sure,” he says, polishing off the last of his sandwich. He sticks his thumb in his mouth to get the last of the sauce. “Gotta keep up the charade, right? Just in case the vultures start catching on. There’ve barely been any tweets about us in the past couple of days.”

Steve turns away again. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “Just in case.”

It feels strange to see Steve outside of school somehow when they meet outside of the museum on Saturday. They’ve never hung out before, not even when they were friendly and Tony feels completely out of his depth on their fake date. He’s never been on a date before, and he’s not sure what to expect, fake or not. 

He spent an inordinate amount of time earlier in the day trying to decide what to wear before eventually FaceTiming Loki in a panic to beg for help. In the end, he gives up and wears his cleanest least tattered shirt, because it’s not a real date anyways. Which makes him feel like an absolute asshole when he sees Steve on the steps of the Museum of Natural History in slacks and a dark blue button down that strains across his shoulders. 

Tony almost considers making Happy turn around so he can go home and change when Steve spots the car and runs up to open the door for him. Tony thinks about ducking under Steve’s arm and booking it on foot anyways. He can’t believe he’s somehow managing to fuck up a fake date. He’s wearing an old Beastie Boys shirt that says “get off my dick,” in huge yellow letters on the back for chrissakes. To a children’s museum.

“Hi,” Steve says, and his warm smile is enough to freeze Tony in place. 

“Hi,” he replies with his remaining IQ and wishes the ground would swallow him up. 

“Have fun, boss,” Happy says helpfully from the front, and Tony wants to cry. 

Despite the rocky start, their fake date ends up being a lot of fun. Tony hadn't expected it, but Steve shows a lot of interest in NASA and the history of space travel with keen excitement for the exhibit bordering on giddiness. They tour the planetarium slowly as Tony babbles at Steve, unloading information on him in a continuous nervous stream and Steve smiles indulgently and lets him ramble about the Hubble telescope and how when they landed Apollo 11 on the moon, all of NASA’s computing power can fit inside of a modern thumb drive. He prompts Tony along with interesting questions, and they spend much of the afternoon circling the space exhibit as they talk. 

Steve slings his arms around Tony’s shoulders to hide the profanity on his shirt as they walk from the space exhibit to other parts of the museum, Steve cheerfully pointing out his favorite sections like the hall of North American mammals which had cases full of taxidermied animals behind glass with beautifully painted tableaux and plastic flora. Tony can’t help but get caught up in his enthusiasm and he relaxes slowly as the day progresses, despite the prickly feeling at the back of his neck that comes with being in large crowds. 

They had chosen a terrible day to visit the museum. They had not had the foresight to realize weekends are extra crowded and the museum is overrun with children and their parents, all eager to run through the exhibits and exclaim over dinosaur bones and shiny rocks. 

Tony notices the slight discomfort in Steve too, probably because the last time they were together in public a few days ago, a new photo of them ended up circulating on Twitter. Tony slides his arm around Steve’s waist and squeezes softly. Steve pauses in his examination of the placard at the foot of the stegosaurus skeleton to give him a small warm smile that sets a flock of butterflies aflutter in Tony’s belly. It’s foolish for Tony to feel this way just because Steve is standing next to him in public on a fake date. 

“I really like dinosaurs,” Tony blurts out, sounding way too eager to be talking about a pile of old bones, because apparently his intelligence is at an all time low when Steve is touching him in any way.

“Me too,” Steve replies, confusion heavy in his tone. 

Tony can’t help but laugh at his expression, and what starts as nervous laughter triggered by his own stupid comment becomes full bodied uproarious laughter Steve joins in on. Their faces are aching by the time they calm down, and when they notice the parents and kids have left a wide berth around them, they laugh again. The conversation somehow gets easier after that. 

“This is ridiculous, isn’t it?” Tony asks when they settle down for lunch at a small cafe near the museum. He picks idly at his cheeseburger and watches with rapt fascination as Steve eats his fries one by one, licking his lips to catch the salt after each bite until they’re cherry red. 

“Hmm?” Steve asks midchew.

“This relationship,” Tony clarifies. “I know it’s been a rough couple of weeks for you, with all of the extra scrutiny.”

Steve shrugs his big shoulders and settles back against his seat. “I’m kind of hoping this attention will pass soon.”

Tony laughs, doesn’t have the heart to tell him that’ll be a while yet. 

“But,” Steve continues, a hint of humor creeping into his voice, “since I’m dating a celebrity now, I might as well bask in the attention and take advantage,” he says with a wide smile. “Do you think we can get free stuff? Like if I tell people I’m with Tony Stark, do I get to skip lines at the supermarket and get more free cheese samples?”

Tony nearly chokes on his drink. He tries to imagine Steve pompously name dropping and nearly dissolves into a fit of laughter. “Probably not,” he says, chuckling. “They’ll probably skip _you_ in line and give you spoiled cheese.”

“Drats,” Steve says mildly, not looking the least bit bothered as he picks up another fry and offers it to Tony. “There goes all of my big plans.”

Later that night, Tony calls Loki and Natasha over for an emergency meeting and he’s laying in bed staring at the ceiling as he recounts their date for his friends. By the time he gets to the end of the evening where they stroll through Central Park chatting about everything and nothing from the last movie they saw to gripes about their least favorite classes and teachers, Tony sits up and groans. 

“He’s too much,” Tony says. “He even walked me home. Who does that? Granted it was like ten blocks from that section of the park but still, Steve was all ‘it’s getting late. I want to make sure you get home okay,’ like yeah the Upper East Side is _so_ dangerous and it’s not like he’s going to have to take the subway for an hour and a half to get home because he refuses to let Happy drive him back—“

“Wait,” Natasha says, holding up her hand to stop Tony’s ramble. She raises an incredulous brow. “You’re complaining he’s _too_ perfect? You’re complaining your boyfriend is treating you too well,” she says flatly. 

“Um, yeah,” Tony replies. “How is he even real? Maybe he’s a robot or something programmed to infiltrate humanity or like maybe he’s some kind of experiment on how to be the perfect romantic partner—”

“I think,” Loki says, turning to Nat and heaving a deep sigh, “Stark is just showing off. He’s not really complaining. He’s just rubbing it in our faces he somehow got Mr. Perfect when he’s a hot mess and we’re both still single.”

Tony laughs awkwardly and has to remind himself that his friends don’t know their relationship is fake. He can’t just blurt it out that Steve is too perfect and he’s too good for Tony even as a pretend boyfriend and Tony is in way too deep with this mess. Steve is too good for him, and that realization hurts like a bitch. 

They should just work on winning Peggy back as soon as possible so Steve can be with the person he really wants, and so Tony doesn’t have to keep this secret from his friends any longer. One part of him wants to get everything over with and just confess. He can probably beg for Pepper and Rhodey’s forgiveness and they might even forgive him. Eventually. He might even survive the embarrassment of his friends’ shock and pity for going through this elaborate ruse in the first place but another part of him likes Steve’s attention way too much to put an end to the charade so quickly.

The guilt of keeping the secret washes heavy in his breast again, a feeling that’s starting to become familiar with how often he feels that way and the words bubble up on the tip of his tongue as the urge to confess intensifies. Tony is saved from blurting everything out when Natasha says, “Tony, just let yourself enjoy something for once.”

“How do I even do that?” Tony asks softly, flopping back down on his bed again. He swallows heavily to keep the confessions from spilling out. 

Natasha just smiles sadly and shakes her head. “I’m sure you’ll be okay,” she says gently, carding her fingers through his hair. “Take it one day at a time. Steve really likes you. Just keep being yourself. You’ll be fine.”

 _Steve really likes me_ , Tony thinks with an edge of panic, the heavy feeling bubbling in his stomach again. Yeah, right.


	5. Chapter Four

“Ooh, free seat,” is all the warning Tony gives before he drops into Steve's lap. 

Their fake relationship is the ripe old age of four weeks, they’ve been on two fake dates, and Tony is finally comfortable enough to willingly hang out with Steve's team during lunch. Steve already knows Nat and Loki but Tony still isn't quite ready for him to meet Pepper and Jarvis yet, not when he’s still avoiding Pepper himself. Little steps, he supposes. 

He and the team haven't gotten off on the best foot but they're getting there. Steve's best friend in particular wasn't all too taken with Tony at the start. 

"'Sup,” he had said to the other occupants of the table when he sat down next to Steve during that first week. They were all gaping at the both of them, staring at where Steve and Tony were linked by their hands, looking shellshocked. “Tony Stark,” he had said pompously, relying heavily on his best and most plasticky smile to keep the nerves from showing. 

Steve had squeezed his hand tightly, a warning or reassurance, Tony still doesn't know, but it had prevented him from launching into a ramble that definitely would have been taken the wrong way by the team, none of whom were used to Tony's charms. 

“Stevie,” Bucky Barnes was the first to pick his jaw up off the floor. “You didn't tell me your boy was Tony fuckin’ Stark.” 

Tony wasn't sure whether the tone he had heard in Barnes’s voice was simply shock or if there was a hint of disdain as well, but he figured at the time it was far too early in the game to antagonize Steve's best friend. He had supposed Barnes wasn’t one for Twitter, or he would’ve seen the photos of their relationship by now. 

“The one and only,” Tony had replied with a sarcastic salute, and admittedly in hindsight, that was probably dickish of him and only reinforced whatever rumors the others might've heard about him. Yep, there was definitely disdain in Barnes’s answering scowl. He didn't miss the answering glare Steve gave his best friend.

“Yeah I heard of you,” Barnes had replied sullenly, but he didn't say anything else about what he might've heard about Tony. He simply gave Steve an unreadable look before turning back to his lunch. 

Steve's other friends had the common decency to not make any other comments on his new relationship and Barnes had ignored him for the rest of the day. Tony was perfectly fine with that. The other team members were friendly enough and he knew Thor by proxy of his stepbrother Loki. 

Bucky eventually comes around, and somewhere in the third week of knowing him, Tony realizes the spiky attitude is his way of trying to protect Steve from anyone who has the potential to hurt him. Tony wonders if Bucky would act the same way if he knew their relationship is fake. He reminds Tony just a little of Rhodey and in that moment, he misses Rhodey with a fierceness that burns. The guilt of not calling Rhodey and ignoring his messages bubble up high in his throat until he felt like throwing up but he forces himself to swallow that all down. 

“Oof,” Steve grunts now as his arms come up to wrap around Tony’s waist, pulling him snugly against his broad chest. “Guess so,” Steve replies, and Tony can hear the smile in his voice. It makes him feel strangely warm, despite trying as hard as he can to ignore that.

The team had turned out to be pretty cool once they all get used to Tony doing his Tony Stark thing and learned to see past the bullshit. Tony begins to think maybe it's not all that bad as he leans back against Steve’s chest. Maybe he can survive this, he thinks, as he watches Clint Barton and Bucky sign furiously back and forth, arguing about the details of their next D&D game as Thor interjects every once in a while. His voice is a loud jarring boom in contrast with the low voices and rapid fire sign language Clint and Bucky prefer. 

Who would've thought the star players of their formidable football team play Dungeons and Dragons in their spare time. And they call _Tony_ a nerd. The nerve. 

“You can't just add players midcampaign, Thor,” Bucky growls impatiently. “That's going to upset the game and undermine a long campaign we all worked really hard on.”

“Yes, but we are hosting at my house this weekend,” Thor says stubbornly. “And my brother wants to join our party.”

“Well you're going to have to tell him no,” Bucky says. He pauses as Clint signs something to him. “Clint agrees. No new PCs midgame.”

“But—”

“You spoil your brother too much, Thor. It's ridiculous. This campaign has been ongoing for over a month. Tell Loki he can join the next one.”

“Your friends are a bunch of losers,” Tony murmurs in Steve's ear, pressing the words close so the others don't hear. He thinks he might've failed when he catches Bucky’s glare directed at him. He blows him a kiss. 

Steve chuckles. His cheek is pressed flush against Tony's and Tony can feel the smile curving Steve's mouth as he says, “I guess we're all a bit nerdy. Don't let the football uniforms fool you.” 

Tony looks across the table to see Clint staring at him speculatively. Clint taps at the back of his ear to switch on his hearing aid and says incredulously, “You're dating _Steve_ and you call us losers?” 

“Hey!” Steve says, voice edged with laughter. “I resent that!”

“Clint's right,” Bucky interjects. “Steve is probably the dorkiest loser out of all of us.”

“Steve's most prized possession is a vintage comic book from the forties. Mint. The cover is his favorite superhero punching Hitler in the face,” Clint supplies. 

“You do archery!” Steve protests. 

“Archery is great,” Clint says, shrugging unapologetically. “It's really builds your arms and core.” He flexes to show his admittedly impressive biceps and strikes a ridiculous pose, grinning playfully at Tony as he waggles his eyebrows. Tony has to bite back a laugh as Steve's arms tighten around his waist. 

“Don't worry, darling,” Tony tells Steve, patting his hand absently. “Your arms are much nicer,” he says as Clint pouts.

“Are we making fun of Steve?” Sam Wilson asks with a wide grin as he drops his tray down next to Thor. “My favorite activity!”

“I hate all of you,” Steve mumbles, burying his face against Tony's neck. The shiver Tony feels traveling down his spine is a simple reflexive physiological response to stimulus on the sensitive skin of his neck, and nothing more.  

“Went to my first comic con because of Steve,” Sam says, ignoring Steve. “I think that was what? Two summers ago?”

Steve groans against Tony's neck. “But it was fun!”

“He made us dress up in costume too,” Sam continues, pointing an accusing pickle at Steve. “And not just any costume! We had to make them. It's part of the experience, he says. I had to spend the entire weekend walking through giant crowds with enormous wings strapped to my back.”

“You chose that character,” Steve protests. 

“That wasn't even the worst of it,” Bucky says. 

“Says you who only had to wear a robot arm,” Sam retorts, reaching over to steal some of Clint’s chips. 

“His favorite writer is Tolkien,” Bucky says. “The giant dork read _The Hobbit_ twenty times and the entire _Lord of the Rings_ probably like fifty times now. One time, he tried to get us to go to a Middle Earth LARP. In the middle of a forest. In Pennsylvania.”

“That would’ve probably been a lot of fun,” Steve mutters. “LARPing is fun.”

Tony laughs as he helps himself to Steve's soggy fries. 

“Steven draws comic strips of us as a group of superheroes who save the world together in his spare time,” Thor says. “You should show Tony your drawings sometime. They're terrific!”

“Et tu, Thor?” Steve asks, betrayed. 

“You still draw?” Tony asks, surprised, turning slightly in Steve's arms to look up at him. He hasn’t seen any of Steve’s actual drawings in years, not since they had detention together and Steve would spend hours working on elaborate pieces to pass the time. Tony had heaped mountains of praise on his work then because it was true. Steve was extremely talented. 

Steve looks bashful as he replies, “Yeah, a little—”

“He draws all the fuckin’ time,” Bucky interrupts. “He's really good at it. He can probably get himself an art scholarship if he wasn't aiming for that football one. Got his eye on Boston College and they ain’t passing out any art scholarships there.”

“Bucky,” Steve groans. “Shut _up._ ”

Boston, huh? Interesting. 

Bucky flaps a hand at him before turning back to his sandwich. “Yeah, yeah, yeah, Stevie's shy about his art, the giant dork.”

“Aw sweetheart,” Tony coos. “You're a giant dork, but at least you're my giant dork.”

He can't help but wonder how it would feel to have Steve call him his for real, and not just for pretend. Not as part of something that is meant to bring Steve back to someone else, but a real relationship, one that even has hope for the future because they’re both destined for Boston. What are the chances?

Even from across the room, he can pinpoint exactly where Peggy Carter is sitting with her friends and he feels her gaze the second her eyes land on their table, and on them. 

On impulse, Tony reaches up with one hand to cup Steve's face, and presses a kiss to his jaw. Clint makes a gagging noise. There's a pink flush high on the crest of Steve's cheeks but he's looking at Tony with an unwavering gaze, seemingly unnoticing of Peggy five tables away. Steve's eyes are ridiculously blue, and Tony _wants_ with a fierceness that leaves him aching. 

“I would love to see your work,” Tony says honestly, pushing the thought of Peggy away for now. He lowers his voice so only Steve hears. The others return to their lunches and bickering, but this feels private somehow, and for whatever reason, he doesn't want Steve's friends to overhear them.  

Tony thinks of the little doodles Steve draws in the corners of the folded notes he gives him every day telling him he's been thinking about him, wishing him luck during a test, and reminding him to eat when he gets too obsessed with his lab work to step away for lunch. They’re usually simple little stick figures and smiley faces, sometimes little doodles of hearts Tony rolls his eyes at but make him feel all too warm inside. Tony never really gave too much thought to the scribbles until now. Tony really wants to see what a fully finished drawing of Steve’s would look like. He would bet real money they look amazing. 

Tony watches the bob of Steve's Adam's apple as he swallows. “Sure,” Steve says quietly, and Tony wonders why his voice sounds so breathless.

… 

“Are we playing stereotypes?” Tony asks, delighted, when Steve says he wants to study together after school. “No, wait, let me guess. You're totally bad at math and science, aren't you? Living up to the jock cliché? Trying to get me alone with you so I can ‘tutor’ you? That's either the start of a really bad porno or a ridiculous horror movie where you take me to your secret basement and saw off all my limbs.” 

Steve rolls his eyes but there's a smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he rifles through his locker. “Actually, I'm pretty good at math and science. Lit is the tough one.” 

Steve doesn't refute that he's going to remove all of his limbs and throw him into a fifty-five gallon drum of concrete though, Tony notices. 

Tony sighs exaggeratedly. “Then you and me both, sweetums. Not my best subject either.”

“Guess we can help each other then,” Steve replies. 

“Definitely bad porno,” Tony decides. 

Steve ignores the comment but he greets no less than eight people who come up to his locker to talk to him. After what feels like an eternity, he finally finds what he's looking for and stuffs the book into his bag. _Crime and Punishment_ indeed, Tony thinks. 

“Let’s go,” Steve says, taking him by the hand. “We can go to my house.”

“Oh,” Tony says eloquently. “You meant right now. Like today. Like _now_ now.”

“Yep,” Steve replies as he tugs him out the school doors. “Today is one of the only days I don't have practice.”

“Um Steve,” Tony says. “Sweetheart. Honeycakes. The car is that way. On that curb.” He points behind them. 

“I'm sure your driver will appreciate the day off,” Steve says as he pulls Tony further and further away from the correct direction. “I'm going to show you something I'm seventy-eight percent sure you've never seen before.”

“Oooh, Rogers, how forward of you!” Tony gasps. 

Steve rolls his eyes and tightens his grip on Tony's hand. Tony watches helplessly as Happy cheerfully waves at them from where he stands by the nice comfy car parked at the side of the street. 

Tony absolutely does not expect to be pulled down the block and towards the nearest subway station. He's dragged down the steps, into the cavernous fluorescent underground, Steve's large hand still tightly gripping his. His eyes widen in horror as he realizes what's happening, what Steve is expecting them to do and shudders at the thought of having to be on a dirty train, crowded with grumpy tired commuters. He can already feel the oppressive crowd of bodies surrounding him, all of them stuck in a rattling metal can with no way out. 

Why the fuck are they doing this when Happy is above ground probably still waiting for them? It makes no fucking sense. He plants his feet by the card machines and steadfastly refuses to move as travelers part around them, glaring in annoyance. 

“Steve,” Tony says, feeling a little bit irritated himself. “You refused my nice comfortable car and driver so we can take the subway? Why?”

“Because this is how the rest of the world lives, Tony,” Steve replies easily enough, but there's an edge to his words, sharp and jagged. “This is how I get to school. Not all of us are so privileged with cars and drivers and fancy houses uptown.” He pauses and looks back at Tony, his eyes softening. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you,” he says, his voice gentler now. 

“How dare you try to make me a better person,” Tony manages to quip after a lengthy silence. “Although I do have to say, public transit is a strange way to go about it. I hear that usually makes people _worse_.”

Steve chuckles quietly. His hand is still slotted together with Tony’s, palms pressed together and he relaxes his grip a little as though he's about to pull away. Feeling irrationally panicked, Tony holds tighter and steps into Steve’s space until they’re shoulder to shoulder. Steve smiles at him and leads him to the turnstiles where he swipes his metrocard for Tony and gently ushers him through.

It’s not so bad, Tony thinks as they wait on the platform for the next downtown train. It’s only moderately crowded, the odd time of day slotted right between the end of school rush and the beginning of rush hour means they’re barely jostled as other commuters jockey for position on the subway platform, craning their necks out onto the tracks to see if they can catch the headlights of the approaching train coming from the dark maw of the open tunnel.

Steve stands close to Tony the entire time, his bulk a warm press against Tony’s side and his hand a warm grip around his fingers. It’s really not bad at all, Tony decides when the train arrives with a _whoosh_ of warm air, the gust ruffling Steve’s pale gold hair. 

The subway ride itself is uneventful enough, if not ridiculously long and surprisingly violent. It's only so interesting to look at long stretches of black tunnel as the train barrels through the underground careening sharply around bends and turns in the tracks. 

Tony is slightly nauseous by the end of the ride and Steve is looking far too amused the seventh time he has to catch Tony when the violent rocking tips Tony's balance and he has to scramble for support to keep from being tossed bodily onto the floor. He hangs onto the passenger poles and Steve for dear life and he's only mildly embarrassed about falling face first into Steve's chest three times, completely not even on purpose. Halfway into the journey, a seat opens up near them and Steve quickly ushers Tony onto the plastic bench and Steve stands in front of him like a protective sentinel for the remaining duration of the ride. 

“Not a word out of you, Rogers,” Tony growls as they finally step off the train somewhere deep in Brooklyn. Tony's legs are feeling just the slightest bit wobbly and he might or might not feel like he's going to throw up all over Steve's shoes any second now. Steve only smiles and holds out his hand for Tony to take as they climb the steps out of the station. 

The walk from the subway station to Steve's house is a short one but Tony has never actually walked through any part of Brooklyn before. Sure, he's been to the little diner his mother loved and once to the botanical gardens for a fundraising event, but he's usually driven to these places by Happy or Jarvis, and that night he had met Steve in Brooklyn to sign their contract was too dark to see much.  

The streets are quieter than Manhattan. Instead of harried businessmen and oblivious tourists, Brooklyn streets are mostly filled with families walking dogs and strollers. The pavement is covered with carpets of bright leaves that crunch underfoot. The evening light shines down on them through the gaps in the trees that line the streets as the sun sets to the west, the gold and purple unobscured by tall glass spires and concrete towers. 

It's nice, Tony thinks, in a pseudo-suburban kind of way. It's not rural by any stretch, but it's quiet and calm and rather lovely. 

Steve's house sits on the corner of a quiet block, a little two story brick with storybook windows and a cheerful yellow door. It has a small front yard with meticulously trimmed hedges surrounded by a white metal fence. 

Inside, the furniture is mismatched and overstuffed, comfortable old things that Howard would deem below him to even touch, but Tony gleefully runs his hands over all the soft worn fabrics. The walls are wrapped with faded blue wallpaper splashed with gardenias and little yellow flowers that bring sprigs of cheer throughout the rooms. 

The house is cozy and everything is just the slightest bit disheveled and cluttered. There’s the smell of old paper and patchouli, and Tony can imagine what the place must be like during the holidays as he traces careful fingers over the plastic orange leaf garlands strung over the chipped fireplace mantle and the half melted pillar candles tucked in the corners. It’s warm, homey. It's so easy to imagine Steve living there, in the house that feels like a home.

Tony knows now why Steve had always seemed just the slightest bit uncomfortable with shows of wealth and offers of money. Steve had never looked like he belonged in Tony's world of modern lines and soulless glass in the city with personal drivers and butlers and high rises bearing his father's name that touch the sky. Tony can't help but wonder how Steve ended up in their expensive magnet school uptown, and thinks maybe that's a question for another day. 

Homework falls by the wayside as the evening progresses. They give Dostoyevsky a real effort, they do, but an argument about the original series versus the new Star Trek reboot means _Crime and Punishment_ lays forgotten on the coffee table by chapter two. 

They make popcorn and fight over what to watch. Eventually Steve wins and they work their way through two episodes of the original series before Steve finally concedes to watch the reboot, and only because Tony makes his best puppy eyes at Steve. The sun has long set outside the windows, casting the living room in long dark shadows, the only illumination glowing from the TV screen. 

Tony curls up happily against Steve's side as the opening credits start, feeling safer and braver in the dark. It's almost instinctive by this point for Steve to wrap his arm around Tony's shoulders and Tony decides definitively that the space between Steve's side and Steve's old couch is the most comfortable spot in the world. 

“They kind of remind me of us,” Tony says sleepily when Kirk and Spock finally meet at Starfleet, already feeling as though he's drifting off. 

“How's that?” Steve's voice is a deep bass rumble that Tony can feel beneath his cheek. 

“I'm smart and logical and great at everything, with an asshole dad like Spock,” Tony says quietly, ignoring the way Steve snorts softly. “And you. You're like Kirk. You're reckless and fearless and people are naturally drawn to you because you were a born leader.”

Steve is silent for so long that Tony thinks he might've fallen asleep too. “And the baby blues,” Tony mumbles softly to himself. Steve still doesn't say anything. Tony is dozing off again when Steve finally answers. 

“I haven't always been that way,” he says, voice hushed. “Been scared of everything my whole life.”

“I wouldn't have known that about you now,” Tony reassures him. “Couldn't even say that about you then.”

“Then,” Steve repeats, rolling the word over his tongue as though he's tasting it and not liking the flavor he finds. “Of course I was scared then too, when I was skinny and weak.”

“But that never stopped you from doing what's right,” Tony says trying to keep his voice as gentle as possible. He sits up slightly and regrets the decision immediately when the furnace warmth of Steve's body dissipates but he doesn't have the excuse of dozing anymore to press close again.  

“Sometimes that urge did get me into a lot of trouble,” Steve agrees, and curls an arm around Tony's shoulders as though hearing his thoughts, tugging him close again. 

They don't talk about how they were almost friends years ago, and they don't talk about Tony's letter where he tells Steve he fell in love with him because of his courage and reckless selflessness, the defense of righteousness. 

“And you really are like Spock,” Steve says after a yawning stretch of silence. “You're incredibly smart and focused. I've never met anyone as smart as you. But you're also very hard to read. You have all of these layers and you build all of these walls to keep people out because you don't want people to see your real emotions.”

Tony feels like throat closing in one part panic, and two parts fear. “No, I don't,” he lies. “What you see is what you get.”

Steve looks at him for a long moment and Tony steadily holds his gaze despite his rabbiting heart until Steve turns away first. 

“My mistake,” Steve concedes gently, his words sounding a lot like a lie too. 

“This is way too fucking deep for Star Trek,” Tony groans, deflecting and desperately trying to bring the light mood back. 

“Star Trek was always meant to be deep,” Steve says. “It’s all analogies for how we should treat other people and allegories for race and culture. You would've known that if you paid more attention to the original series.”

“Only old people like the original series,” Tony retorts. 

“Are you calling me old?” Steve squawks indignantly. 

And there's the earlier mood, returning with a rush of relief that warms Tony down to his toes. It's so easy to talk to Steve, alarmingly easy, but he knows if Steve really peels back the layers, he won't like what he finds. No one does when they look closely enough, not even his parents ( _especially_ not his parents), and he's long learned to keep the deepest parts of himself hidden and buried. 

“You have the mind and preferences of a freshly minted nonagenarian,” Tony replies, not bothering to bite back his grin. 

“A nonagenarian,” Steve repeats with a sharp calculative gleam in his eyes. The gleam automatically triggers fight or flight in Tony, and he has to fight to tamp down the rush of desire that floods his belly when he stares back at that laser-focused look. 

“A centenarian,” Tony croaks, apparently instinctively choosing fight. His eyes widen and before he can make any moves to try and leap off the couch and make a run for it, Steve pounces. 

What must be two hundred pounds of muscle is suddenly pinning Tony immobile against the couch as dexterous fingers wriggle against his ribs. Tony shrieks and howls, trying desperately to writhe away as Steve laughs and presses his fingers harder into his sides. 

“Take it back,” Steve demands, his eyes sparkling bright with laughter in the low light. 

“No!” Tony gasps between bouts of laughter as Steve relentlessly tickles him. He's trapped between Steve's chest and the couch and Steve clearly has the upper hand and a distinct lack of mercy, but that doesn't mean he's going to wave the white flag. Stark men are made of iron, and all that. 

“I’m never going to surrender!” Tony says, feeling giddiness bubble up inside of him. The hysteria must be infiltrating his brain as it runs haywire from the overload of the tickling and Steve's warm weight bearing down on him. It's just too much. 

“Oh, you're in for it then,” Steve informs him, and immediately resumes the tickling until tears of mirth gather in the corners of Tony's eyes and leak down the sides of his cheeks. He wriggles like a fish in Steve’s grip, trying desperately to dislodge him, but Steve is far stronger and apparently very determined to tickle Tony to death.

He only stops when Tony is gasping for breath, wheezing laughter between pants for air. Steve holds him down with one large hand gripping both of Tony’s wrists pinned above his head and asks again, “Do you surrender? Last chance.”

“Never,” Tony says valiantly, before immediately succumbing to a fresh wave of giggles as Steve’s fingertips find his ribs anew. 

They're so caught up in the tickle fight, they don't hear the front door opening and closing and nearing footsteps until it's too late. A lamp flickers on with a soft _click_ , flooding the darkened room with warm yellow light. They startle when they hear a throat clearing and Tony looks up with mounting horror to see a blond woman with Steve's eyes standing in the living room entry. Steve notices her at the exact same moment. 

“Hi mom,” Steve says, his voice flat with dread. 

“Steven Grant Rogers,” his mother says sternly, but there's laughter dancing in her eyes as she stares down at the both of them. “This was _not_ how I expected to meet your new boyfriend.”

“Ma!” Steve sounds mortified, blushing furiously red. He's still laying on top of Tony, hands pinning his arms up on the armrest and neither of them have gathered enough of their wits to scramble upright. “It's not what it looks like, I swear—”

“Well, I'll take your word for it, Steve,” she says lightly, the corners of her lips tilting up. “But a reminder that you have a perfectly nice bedroom upstairs, _with a door_ , and sheets are much easier to clean than cushion covers.”

“ _Ma_ —”

“Hi, honey,” she says directly to Tony, and Tony wishes a chasm would open up in the rug and swallow him whole. “I'm Sarah Rogers. It's nice to meet you.”

Tony finally manages to shove Steve off of him when Sarah Rogers extends her hand for a shake with an amused smile. He wills away his rising blush and manages somehow to not stammer when he takes her hand with a hoarse, “nice to meet you Mrs. Rogers. I'm Tony.”

“Just Sarah will do, sweetheart,” she says kindly. “I've heard so many great things about you, Tony. Steve won't stop talking about how smart you are and all of the great things you accomplished. He showed me the paper you published last month, he was so proud of you!” 

“Was he now?” Tony says, a smile curling his lips. He glances over at Steve whose cheeks are beet red and he's refusing to meet Tony's eyes. 

Sarah's praise and the thought of Steve saying anything nice about him to his mom brings his blush forward and Tony knows his cheeks are flaming red by now. He just barely resists the urge to cover his face. 

“Ma, please stop embarrassing the both of us,” Steve groans, dramatically thunking his head against the back of the couch. 

Sarah laughs. “Fine, fine, I'll leave you both to it. Holler if you boys need anything,” she says, the smile stretching across her face and crinkling the corners of her pretty blue eyes. “Condoms? Snacks? Let me know,” she chortles as she leaves. 

“Oh my god,” Tony groans, finally giving into the urge to cover his face with his hands. He waits until Sarah walks out of earshot before reminding Steve, “bad porno.”

Steve shakes his head and buries his face against Tony's shoulder as he shakes with rising laughter. The situation is so absurd, Tony starts laughing too, little chuckles that bubble out of his throat as he absently pets Steve's hair while they both struggle to gather themselves. 

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Tony says. 

“Language,” Steve scolds, but there's no heat behind his reprimand. He's still struggling with the last of his giggles. 

“Shut up, old man.”

“Let’s go to the kitchen,” Steve says when he finally gets his laughter under control. “You're staying for dinner. Mom won't hear otherwise, trust me,” he adds when Tony starts to protest. “So we might as well get our asses up now and go help, before she gives us worse shit about walking in on us.”

“We’re never going to live this down, are we?” Tony says. 

“Nope,” Steve confirms. “She's probably going to be repeating this story even on our wedding day. Bucky is going to know soon too, I'm counting on it. I swear they exchange reports on me regularly. Ma probably tells Buck to keep an eye on me, like she thinks I deliberately get myself into trouble. Can you imagine?”

Tony nearly swallows his tongue at Steve's casual mention of their wedding, as though their relationship is real, as though that's something they can possibly have. He ignores it, knows it's probably just a meaningless phrase Steve doesn't even realize he said, and he wills it not to hurt. 

Sarah is already puttering around in the kitchen when they join her. Steve presses a quick kiss to her cheek she returns with a smile as he moves in to snatch the colander of vegetables from her hands. 

Tony has never cooked before. He had often baked with Jarvis and Ana when he was little, but he hasn't made anything more complicated than a bowl of cereal in years. He hasn't had the time to learn to cook since his responsibilities at Stark Industries grew so he's not much help in the kitchen, but he enjoys watching Steve and his mom throw together a simple meal, notices the warm way they tease one another and realizes that's who Steve gets his sense of humor from. 

Sarah makes him feel right at home, gets him to help with slicing the bread for the beef stew and shredding lettuce for the salad, simple little things just to make him feel included. She’s warm and bright and kind, genuine affection shining from her eyes whenever she looks at her son. That same affection curves the lines of her lips whenever she smiles at Tony and he is weak-kneed with gratitude, warm to the core with how easily Sarah Rogers accepts him. 

“I don't know if you remember, Tony,” Sarah says when they sit down to eat the dinner they all prepared together. “But we met years ago, just once.”

“Oh, did we?” he asks, perplexed. He tries to recall but his memory is failing him. “I don't really remember.”

“I guess met isn't the right word,” Sarah laughs. “We've never been properly introduced until now but I have seen you before. Steve's freshman year.”

And Tony knows, the memory washing over him in a cold wave. Steve must notice because he puts a hand over Sarah's but she continues. 

“The two of you were sitting together outside Principal Fury’s office, awaiting your fates, after the fight with that Osborn kid and his little gang. I walked in there to have the parent talk with him and I met your—uncle?”

Tony swallows. He feels like an absolute prick when he tells her, “He’s m-my butler. Jarvis.”

“Yes, Jarvis,” Sarah nods, as though it's perfectly normal for everyone to have a butler, and for them to negotiate detention on behalf of their absent parents. “Probably one of the nicest people I've ever met but you should've seen the way he fought to keep the situation fair. We both agreed that the two of you had every right to defend yourselves. He didn't budge an inch on trying to get what was right for you, and to get justice for those bullies who picked on you and Steve.”

“That's Jarvis,” Tony says, smiling a little. His nerves loosen slightly. “He's always looking out for me.”

“I'm glad,” Sarah says. “We all need someone like that. And I'm glad you have Steve now too, honey.” She pats Steve's hand and gives them both a warm smile. “But when I saw the both of you sitting together outside that office, scraped and bloody, clinging to one another, I knew it was only a matter of time. Took you long enough,” she says, directing this to Steve. 

He scowls, patented Sullen Steve Stare. “Ma, _please_.”

“Is that the only thing you know how to say to me when Tony is around?” Sarah laughs. “He usually has such a mouth on him,” she tells Tony as Steve's scowl deepens. 

“Oh, don't I know it,” Tony says, not quite realizing what he's said until Steve chokes on his water and Sarah laughs. He joins her in laughter despite his burning cheeks, and with a heavy ache in his chest, Tony knows he’s going to miss Sarah Rogers once the gig is up. 


	6. Chapter Five

It takes six weeks for Howard to realize Tony is distracted. The new concepts he comes up with are lacking, the prototypes are not innovative enough, the output not powerful enough. 

Admittedly, Tony has had a blissful few weeks spending every day he can after school with Steve, usually at Steve's house if he doesn't have practice and sitting on the bleachers overlooking the field if they're preparing for a game. Tony can't decide what he likes better: the late evenings when he cuddles warm next to Steve on the old couch as they run through a gamut of shows and movies they each insist the other to watch before getting up to help Sarah make dinner, or watching the team run drills with a hot coffee warming his hands from the late autumn chill, and Steve jogging up to him every so often to see what he's working on before departing again with a kiss on Tony's cheek. 

Every day, like clockwork, Steve brings him breakfast and coffee in the labs. After second period, he would be waiting in the halls outside of Tony’s classroom door to drop a note into his hands and again right before the start of seventh. Sometimes they're about Tony, sometimes they're little anecdotes and punny jokes. Lately, they've been slowly transitioning to more doodles, usually observational sketches Steve makes of eyes and hands. Sometimes, they're comic characters, and Tony soon realizes the big muscly one is supposed to be Steve and the high tech robot armor is Tony. He likes those notes the best. 

Tony straightens each scrap of paper and smoothes them out meticulously. He saves them all and brings them home to place in a little box he keeps under his bed, still lamenting the loss of his mother’s old hatbox. He builds his collection of Steve notes like magpie treasure, and tries not to think of the day he won't have any more to add to the hoard. 

Tony is in so deep, he knows this, and it terrifies him. Every time Steve takes him by the hand, it warms him to the core. It makes him ache bone deep when he sees Steve smile softly at him. Each innocent kiss pressed to his cheek and jaw makes heat creep up from his belly until he feels immolated, fever bright. 

And every time they pass Peggy in the halls and Steve turns that same bright smile on her, Tony feels washed cold and brittle. The vise in his chest tightens and tightens until he can barely breathe, and he feels as though he can shake apart into a million pieces if not for the warm press of Steve against his side. 

He's knows it's wrong. He's only just borrowed Steve, borrowing him until he goes back to where he rightfully belongs, and that's with Peggy Carter, not with him. Not with Tony Stark who is all kinds of wrong for Steve. He's not nearly pretty enough, warm enough, kind enough, good enough, enough enough _enough_. It doesn't stop Tony from selfishly taking while he's able, treasuring each minute they spend together, and making every excuse for just one more second, one more moment. 

Steve doesn't seem to mind. He seems all too happy to see Tony whenever he plops down in his lap during lunch, when he spots him sitting high in the bleachers overlooking football practice, when he waits by Steve's locker to go home with him. 

They've made it a habit to take the subway so Happy can have afternoons off when Tony goes to Steve's house, and he's loath to admit it, but he doesn't quite mind the train when he gets to spend an hour hugged in Steve's arms as a pretense of support. 

Sometimes on the weekends, they take the train for fun. Tony doesn't like to admit it, but Steve brings a sense of magic to everything they do, even something as mundane as taking the subway. They've taken the train with no destination in mind before, going from one end of the D line to the other, which takes them from the very tip of Brooklyn to the edge of the Bronx. They do it for the simple pleasure of letting the swaybacked rocking of the train lull them into quiet conversation and they spend lazy weekend days riding all over the city, transferring to other lines on whim. 

Tony convinces Steve they’re pretending they’re running away together on grand adventures, riding giant locomotives across the country. Steve laughs and indulges him, doesn’t see the sad truth in Tony’s eyes, wishing he can really run away with Steve. 

The trains are often empty at night when Steve rides with Tony to take him home. Tony thinks it's silly for Steve to waste the time bringing him back uptown, but Steve always insists and Sarah insists alongside him. Tony is helpless against two Rogers. 

The nights on the train make Tony feel as though they're in a bubble of time and space. There's probably a theory of relativity applicable there, but time feels both infinite and far too short when they have the train car to themselves. That's when they talk the most, in susurrating murmurs and soft voices, and Tony is the most honest when he's on those train rides with Steve, tucked in the curve of his arm. 

It makes it all the harder for Tony to remind himself that this isn't real and the ugly end is already rearing its head. 

The first email comes from Howard on the Sunday before Thanksgiving. Tony used to wonder if this is how parents normally talk to their children, but watching Steve and Sarah stringing holly on the mantle and singing along to pop songs on the radio, the cold confirmation comes that no, it's not. His and Howard's relationship never has been and never will be normal. 

He doesn't want to open the email when the _ding_ sounds on his phone, but he knows he can't ignore Important Stark Industries Business. He sighs as he opens his email, walking into the kitchen so Steve and Sarah won't see his expression when he reads it. 

It's brusque and to the point, “ _New model for HS-451 is garbage. Redo._ ”

Tony doesn't know how long he stands in front of the kitchen table, staring unseeingly at the phone in his white knuckled grip. He had spent three weeks on that model, and okay admittedly parts of it were interrupted when Steve and school and college applications and his peer reviews distract him, but he had worked hard on that build, damnit. Trust Howard to rip it to shreds with ten words or less. 

Steve finds him in the kitchen. Tony startles when warm arms wrap around his waist from behind and he relaxes back against Steve’s chest once he pushes past the fog of his Howard-inspired fugue. He can feel the sharp point of Steve’s chin pressing into the meat of his shoulder as Steve leans in close, his jaw aligned with Tony’s own and he can feel the movement when Steve speaks.

“Hey, everything okay?”

Tony sighs, the breath coming up from the tips of his toes to the top of his head, released in one long gust. “Yeah, fine,” he says, trying to inject lost cheer back into his voice. “Just SI stuff.” He waves his phone a little.

Steve hums, a deep bass rumble Tony feels against his spine. The vibrations travel along his shoulders until he feels as if he’s tingling all over. He doesn't resist when Steve turns him with gentle hands on his shoulders but when Steve presses a kiss to his forehead, Tony freezes, not expecting it. He melts slowly when Steve's lips linger against his skin, fingertips branding hot where they rest at the nape of Tony's neck. 

“You don't have to kiss me when no ones watching, you know,” Tony says, and immediately hates himself. 

“I want to,” Steve says simply, but he draws away. Tony misses his warmth and instinctively steps closer to Steve. He fits so perfectly in the slot of Steve's arms, it hurts and aches and burns and it's stupid, it's so, so, _so_ stupid. 

“Are you sure you're okay?” Steve asks again, ever intuitive. “You know—” he cuts off and swallows audibly before continuing. “You know you can tell me anything, right? If you want to. If it'll help.”

Tony tucks his face into the crook of Steve's shoulder and sighs. “I'm—better now,” he says, honest. 

“Okay,” Steve says, not making any move to leave the kitchen. 

“Okay,” Tony repeats, and stays. 

The second reprimand from Howard comes from abroad. He somehow still manages to find the time to scold Tony even when he's fucked off halfway across the world “in an important conference.” 

Outside the enormous windows of the Fifth Avenue townhouse, snow slowly drifts down from steel grey skies, fluttering onto the concrete grey below. Inside, the kitchen is warm with laughter and sugar and flour. 

Tony is covered nearly head to toe in powdery white as Loki and Nat laugh at him, and Jarvis smiles indulgently. Tony doesn't understand why baking is so difficult. He’s good at chemistry, and they're basically the same thing but he's already messed up the cupcake batter twice, and he's running out of ingredients. 

“You know,” Loki drawls from across the enormous kitchen island. “It would've been a lot easier to make brownies.”

“Everyone makes brownies,” Natasha says, handing Tony the vanilla extract. “That's boring. The holiday bake sale needs more than just a dozen trays of box bake brownies.”

“And I like a challenge,” Tony adds, measuring the flavoring carefully. The last two times he tried this, his batter came out cloyingly sweet like the scented candles Sarah loves. He wonders if it's too late to just write a check for the student union and just make a donation so he can forget this baking nonsense altogether. But he knows Steve would frown at that and the thought of Steve frowning makes something twist in Tony's gut. 

“I think,” Loki says slowly, his tone spelling trouble, “you're just trying to impress Steve.”

Tony gathers up every ounce of bravado he has and says nonchalantly, “I don't have to try to impress Steve. I'm naturally a very impressive person.” 

“That you are, sir,” Jarvis says drily from the other side of the kitchen where he's preparing dinner. “I'm quite sure Mister Rogers will be amply impressed with your delicious cupcakes.”

“Sass,” Tony says. “All I get is sass here! Nat, my buddy, best friend, darling. You have faith in me, right?”

“Of course, _dorogo moi_ ,” she replies without an ounce of irony, but Tony knows better. 

She's definitely sassing him too, and to be fair, he's not really sure why the batter is green this time. They're supposed to be vanilla cupcakes and he doesn't even remember buying food coloring, nor would he have any reason to add it to his batter. He frowns down at the bowl in his hands. 

“Is the batter supposed to be that color?” Loki asks, peering over his shoulder. 

Before Tony can formulate an answer, his butt vibrates and his phone _dings_ in his back pocket. He groans and sets the bowl on the counter. They're going to have to make another grocery run. Maybe cookies will be a better idea. 

He glances quickly at the notification and with suffocating dread, Tony opens his email to find another one of Howard's curt notes. “ _What is wrong with you? Check TS-1495 now!_ ”

Tony doesn't realize he's standing at the sink staring blankly at his phone until Jarvis gently takes it away from him and flicks off the screen. He leads Tony to a counter stool and sits him down before shuffling over to start the coffee machine. 

“We’re going to get started on some cookies,” Loki declares, his voice too bright, too cheerful. “You're just going to get underfoot and mess up the recipe again. Shoo! Off with you.”

The corner of Tony's mouth tilts up. “I don't know what you mean. I’m great at baking.”

Nat pats his arm sympathetically and rubs his arm. “I'm sure you can learn to be,” she says consolingly. “But we have it from here.”

“We will tell Steve you made them,” Loki reassures him. 

Tony sighs and smiles gratefully at Jarvis when he hands him a steaming mug of coffee. He pushes off and away from the counter, mentally preparing himself for another long night in his lab. 

As he's about to leave the kitchen, Jarvis touches his wrist. “Do remember to come up for dinner, Anthony,” he says gently. “You don't eat nearly enough. Mister Rogers and myself as well as your friends worry for you.”

The smile Tony gives in return is glasspane brittle. “Thanks, J,” he murmurs as he leaves. “There's no need to worry.”

…

Tony doesn't sleep for an entire week. All of his spare time is spent in the labs, tapping away at his SI laptop, trying his best to fix the project Howard tore apart with a handful of barbed words. That's the thing with Howard, he expects everything out of Tony and doesn't realize soon, Tony won't have anything left to give, not when he's this exhausted and running on empty. He reaches for his coffee cup only to remember he doesn't have any coffee left. 

He hasn't seen Steve in four days since Howard emailed him about his newest blunder. Steve is very understanding, if not more and more worried sounding with every passing day that Tony doesn't show up during their lunch period and he knows Steve has been asking Loki and Nat and even Jarvis for updates on him. 

Steve has been getting increasingly panicked about him if his texts and notes are anything to go by. His messages keep asking him how he's doing and his little handwritten notes keep imploring him to eat and reminding him that coffee does not count as a food group. 

“ _I'm fine, honeybun_ ,” Tony texts back as Steve messages him for the fifth time that hour. He hadn't even noticed the sun has set and it's nearly five already, so Steve must be sneaking breaks at practice to send him these messages. He feels terrible for making Steve worry. He knows that Coach Coulson has been extremely hard on the team with the championships coming up, but Steve still finds time between drills to check up on him.

Tony sighs and puts his phone down. He’s about to dive back into his lines of code when the lab doors open and Pepper walks in. 

“Fuck,” he breathes quietly to himself. This must be Steve's doing, it has to be, Steve playing dirty and bringing in the big guns, he fucking knows Pepper is probably the only one who can get him to quit early, but he hasn't spoken to Pepper in weeks, the guilt of the letters and the whole thing with Steve eating away at him along with the shit from Howard and he's been avoiding Pepper at school and Rhodey’s messages he's such a crappy friend why would they want to be his friend anymore Pepper isn't here to help she's here to yell at him it's what he deserves oh god this is going to be the end of two of his best friendships he's always fucking everything up— 

Tony's mental spiral screeches to a halt when Pepper sits down in front of him and places a venti americano with three extra shots on the table. She arches a brow as she looks at him, her face expressionless and pushes the cup forward. 

He takes it gratefully and downs three large gulps of the scalding hot drink before he manages to rasp, “Pepper….”

She holds up a hand to stop him and says, “Honestly, Tony. It’s been two months and you’re already falling apart without me.” Her stern look melts away into a fond smile that makes Tony weak at the knees. 

Tony feels like he wants to cry, and stronger yet is the urge to fall at Pepper’s feet and beg for forgiveness for his stupidity. He doesn't know what to say, can't even begin to form the words to beg, and her expression softens as she holds out her arms. He falls gratefully into her embrace, thinks he might be close to sobbing as she strokes gentle hands down his back. 

“You're so dumb, you know that?” she says, and he wholeheartedly agrees. 

“I'm sorry,” Tony manages past the lump in his throat. 

Pepper sighs against his neck and tightens the hold of her arms. “If it wasn't for Steve, I would be very very mad at you,” she says. 

Tony sighs as he draws away. “What did Steve say?” He's too tired to really get annoyed about anything anymore. He's at the stage of sleep deprivation where his eyes are just beginning to cross and Pepper is starting to blur at the edges where she wavers in front of him. As far as he knows, Pepper might be a mirage. She’s way too good to be true.

Pepper sighs as she reaches a hand up to brush Tony's hair away from his forehead. “He told me you haven't slept all week for one,” she says. “He also told me you've been feeling guilty about me.”

“Of course I have,” Tony says, not quite able to look Pepper in the eye. “I shouldn't have written those letters. I should never have let anything get between our friendship.”

“And nothing ever will,” Pepper says, gently tipping his face to look at her with the pads of her fingers. “You have to trust me too, Tony, that I wouldn't have let you think the letter could've come between us. I knew then and still know now which letter was the only letter that was ever meant to be, and I'm _so_ happy you finally have Steve.”

The urge to cry swells up from deep in Tony's belly again and he wants so very badly to tell Pepper everything. He doesn't deserve the genuine joy he sees in her eyes as she smiles at him, doesn't deserve the happiness she feels for him thinking his farce is a real relationship. He swallows down the truth and forces a smile on his lips. 

“Yeah, Peps,” Tony says. “I'm glad I have Steve too.”

“See,” Pepper says, “everything worked out. I can't say I wasn't worried about you when I got my letter, but I can understand, Tony. And I'm glad I got it, even though I know you don't think of me that way anymore.”

Tony sighs again. “I'm sorry for thinking otherwise,” he murmurs. “I'm sorry for not trusting you to be the mature one, because we both know we can't count on me to do that like ever, but I should've known you would've understood and made everything okay.”

“Yeah, you dummy,” Pepper says as she taps his cheek lightly. “You might be the genius here but sometimes you make really dumb decisions.”

Tony barks a laugh, his gut clenching. “Yeah I really fucking do,” he agrees, and Pepper doesn't even know the half of it. 

“Now,” Pepper says, with steel in her tone that brooks no room for disagreement, “you're going to go home and sleep. This project can wait.” She holds up a hand when Tony starts to protest. “It can wait. You're no good to anyone if you collapse on top of your laptop. Get a good night's sleep and I'm sure a solution will come to you. It always does,” she says fondly. 

“But I'm so close,” Tony says, despite the glare Pepper levels at him. “A breakthrough is three hours away, max.”

“Three more hours?!” Pepper exclaims. She sighs, and Tony can hear the exasperation in her voice. “You're working way too hard, Tony. It's unhealthy.”

Tony laughs but he doesn't quite feel the humor behind it. “If anyone works too hard, it's you Pepper,” he retorts. “You have so much going on with the yearbook, and student council, and Model UN. Pepper, you're actually a superwoman.”

“I know,” Pepper sniffs. “But I'm also not crazy like you. I only took on what I knew I could handle, and I still get to sleep.”

“It's not exactly like SI is a choice,” Tony mutters. 

Pepper rubs a soothing hand across his shoulder, pulling him close for a loose hug. “I know, Tony,” she sighs. “But you still have to sleep. Steve says you've been down here all week. I'm surprised the school hasn't kicked you out yet.”

“Howard pays them enough in donations,” Tony reminds her, rubbing a hand over his burning eyes. “He basically funded this lab.”

“Doesn't mean you should treat it like rent,” she says. “Now let’s go. You can finish this another day. You can come back tomorrow. But we are going to get some food now and then _you_ are going to sleep.”

“But I'm so close,” Tony repeats petulantly. 

“Tomorrow,” she insists. “And tomorrow, you're also going to talk to Rhodey. He's been really worried about you, wondering why you haven't been answering either of our calls.”

The guilt weighs heavier in Tony's stomach and he feels as though he might retch. He's made such a mess of everything, hurting everyone around him with all of his stupid decisions, and nothing he ever does is right, it's all wrong, he's wrong— 

“None of that,” Pepper says, snapping Tony out of another spiral. Her hand feels warm against his cheek, anchoring and strong. “I can see where your brain is going, Tony. Just email Rhodey tomorrow. Everything is fine. He's just worried about you and he’ll call you back once he gets the chance.”

“Okay,” Tony sighs, wondering not for the first time what he's done to deserve friends like them. 

“He's coming home in two weeks,” Pepper reminds him. 

“ _Fuck_ ,” Tony breathes, angry at himself all over again. “I can't believe it's already December.”

“I can't believe you avoided us for over two months for something so silly,” Pepper returns, not unkindly. She pushes his coffee into his hands and walks over to the closet to grab his coat. “Now let’s go, Happy is already waiting upstairs. I'm sure Steve is done with practice by now too. You’re going to properly introduce me to your boyfriend.”

…

The state championship game is the Friday before the start of Christmas break and the week leading up to the big event has the entire school abuzz with excitement. Everything is decorated with the team colors in garish swaths of red and blue and Steve can barely walk ten feet down the halls without someone clapping him on the shoulder and trying to give him a high five. 

Tony would've found it severely annoying had he not been swept up in the excitement too. He attends all of Steve's practices, sometimes with Loki and Nat for company, but more often than not alone. It's getting far too cold to sit outside for long periods of time, but like hell Tony is going to miss any of the free shows.  

Everyday, he sits high in the bleachers overlooking the field with a hot coffee cupped in his hands and the scarf he stole from Steve wrapped snug around his neck. He settles down to watch the drills and practice games Coach Coulson makes the team play as the night settles early around them, his breath pluming in white smoke that curls from his mouth. 

He cheers every time Steve makes a particularly good throw and when Bucky or Clint makes a touchdown, shouting encouragement whenever Thor makes a particularly brutal tackle and when Sam makes an especially dexterous pass. 

Tony doesn't know much about football, but he can tell they have a great team. Everyone works seamlessly as a well oiled machine engineered by Coulson and led by Steve. 

Steve is a beast on the field, all controlled power and whipquick agility. His reflexes are lightning sharp, every move conservative and carefully calculated. Tony's eyes are trained on him every time he pulls back his arm with coiled strength in his shoulders, snapping the ball forward in a precise parabola. It's a thing of beauty. 

Tony can't help the sense of pride that swells in him to see his fake boyfriend dominate the game and heat curls low in his belly every time he sees Steve in his team colors. It's ridiculous, and Tony would suspect he's being conditioned if he doesn't know any better because Steve presses closer and his kisses linger far longer when he sneaks in moments to chat with Tony during practice while he's wearing that damn red and blue. It's driving Tony insane. 

Sometimes he runs up to Steve on the field after practice, and ignoring the ribbing and good natured teasing from Steve's teammates, presses his cold nose against Steve's warm cheek. Steve is usually a furnace after practice, and there's no better way to warm up from the cold than to walk back to the school with Steve's arm draped snug around his shoulders. 

The day of the big game dawns bright and brisk, a sharp chill in the mid December air. The sky is a bright cornflower blue that dusks down purple and navy as afternoon falls swiftly into evening. 

The stadium where the championship game is held is huge and packed to the brim by the time Tony arrives. The fluorescent lights are blindingly bright overhead, washing everything cold and white. The seats are sectioned in a clear division of team loyalty, a sea of green and grey to the right clashing with an ocean of red and blue. 

Earlier back at school, Steve had looked stunned when Tony met with the team to wave them off as they loaded onto the bus. He watched Tony with brightfire intensity, his eyes dragging a long line from Tony's head down to his toes. Tony was wearing Steve's old jersey instead of one of his usual tattered t-shirts, and he could see something like heated pride sparking in Steve's eyes, but that's probably his own delusion. 

Tony ignored the rest of the team’s catcalls and wolf whistles as he kissed Steve goodbye, telling him he'll see him after they bring home the state title. He was about to turn and leave when he sneezed, the thin material of the old football jersey doing little to keep out the winter cold. Steve had smiled fondly at him and shrugged off his own team jacket, a red and blue monstrosity that he draped carefully across Tony's shoulders. It was still warm from Steve's body heat. 

“Hold onto that for me,” Steve had told him, pulling on the collar of the letterman so it laid flat, long fingers carefully brushing over where his scripted name was embroidered on Tony's chest. His blue eyes were dark in the low light and his voice was rumbling bass deep as he pressed his words with a soft kiss to Tony's cheek, his lips grazing the corner of Tony's mouth. 

Tony is swimming in the jacket as he settles into his seat next to his friends now, the seam of the shoulders falling halfway down his biceps and the hem of the bright blue edge dropping down to his thighs. He tugs the sleeves over his palms, reveling in the way the leather and wool surrounds him, snuggling deep in its proffered warmth as he presses close to Pepper beside him. 

Pepper smiles fondly at him as she passes him a cup of hot chocolate. She notices Steve's jacket immediately and the fondness transforms into a knowing smirk, her sharp eyes roving over the looping script that spells Rogers atop his breast. She and Natasha exchange secretive looks. 

Tony smiles but doesn't say anything. He presses his cup-warmed hand over Steve's name, scraping his nails lightly over the silk thread and settles in to watch the game as the brass band marches onto the field to open the first quarter. 

Even the cheerleading routine led by Peggy doesn't put a damper on Tony's mood, he's so excited to watch Steve play. The endless practices and brutal drills pay off, the team working in perfect synchronized harmony as they all work methodically as a unit to score their touchdowns. 

Steve is unfazed as he stares down the line of offense, his throws arching in tight spinning spirals, perfectly controlled tosses that land precisely between Bucky's cupped hands on the other end of the field. Tony watches the displays of powerful gyroscopic precession with rapt fascination, and thinks he can write formulae and equations and theorems for Steve's plays, ballads and sonnets arranged in numbers. 

Everything happens in rapid fire flashes. Their team makes immaculate play after play, but the other team matches them point for point. The first quarter wanes into the second, halftime a brief respite for both sides to catch their breaths. The third quarter starts with renewed vigor, both teams trying their best to snatch the lead. The end of the fourth quarter is drawing to a tense nail biting close when the final play is handed off to Steve. The score is still tied. 

Steve surveys the field for a brief moment as he cocks his arm back, eyes roving the field to look for an opening. Tony is on the edge of his seat, waiting with baited breath, Pepper equally tense next to him. Even Loki and Nat are silent. The whole stadium is quiet as they watch Steve make the final throw with seconds on the clock. 

Steve spots an opening, his whole body twisting as he spirals the ball in a curving helix. The ball barely makes it out of his hand before Steve is tackled to the ground, buried beneath a wave of bodies and Tony leaps to his feet in outrage. He starts forward as though he thinks he can actually run down onto the grass before Pepper pulls him back down into his seat.  

For a tense moment, it looks like the ball might not make it all the way to the end of the field, the opposing team players leap trying to catch it but it flies through their fingers, until finally, _finally_ Clint jumps into the air, his hand closing tightly around the pigskin and the stadium erupts with thunderous noise. Clint runs the ball the final few yards, deftly weaving between tackles trying to take him down, his teammates doing their best to protect him. With a loud whoop lost to the noise of the crowd, he touches down in the end zone just as the timer buzzes, flashing zero. 

The noise in the stadium is deafening as the red and blue wave leaps to its feet as one, stomping and cheering. 

“Holy shit,” Tony whispers, turning wide eyes to his friends. 

“Holy shit,” Loki echoes. 

“Did we just win?” Pepper gasps. 

“We just won,” Natasha confirms. 

“We just won!” Tony repeats. 

Before he really thinks about what he's doing, Tony is running down the bleachers and vaulting over the barrier between crowd and field. Steve tosses his helmet carelessly onto the grass when he hears Tony calling out his name, and begins to jog towards him. 

Tony is running through the grass and throwing himself into Steve's waiting arms, laughing when Steve swings him up. Steve's large hands are cupping the crest of Tony's hips and he's curling his legs around Steve's waist and he's pulling Steve closer and in and then, his lips are pressing against Steve's, warm and soft and pliant and—they're kissing. 

Tony pulls away breathlessly as soon as he realizes what he's doing. He cannot believe he's kissing Steve in front of the whole school and their rival school like this under the bright glare of the Friday night lights but he can't help himself. He ducks down for another kiss, and another, and another. He feels possessed and unable to stop, drawn irrevocably to the feeling of Steve's lips against his own and he's already fucked, he's already addicted. 

“This isn't a violation of the contract?” Steve murmurs against his lips and Tony pauses to look down at Steve's open expression that looks a lot like hope. But that can't be right. 

“Not if we don't want it to be,” Tony replies. He kisses Steve again. “This is what they expect of us anyways,” he adds, the careless sweep of his arms encompassing the still cheering crowd and Peggy who is watching them from her huddle of cheerleaders. He doesn't want to talk about this. He's already aching to kiss Steve again. 

Steve's expression dims a little and his expression falls slightly but his hold on Tony's hips tightens, his hands flexing along the curve. Tony doesn’t uncurl his legs from around Steve’s waist and he doesn’t ask to be put down. 

“I don't want it to be,” Steve says firmly. His eyes are bright as he pulls Tony in for another kiss, a long press of lips that feels closer and warmer and far more desperate than the ones before. 

Tony knows intellectually this is all brought on by simple adrenaline, it's meaningless, but the desire burns firebright through his veins and he doesn't want to stop. His mouth opens against Steve's, and he can feel the warmth of Steve's tongue sliding against his own, hot and slick. The rest of the stadium fades away until it feels like it's just the two of them. He's floating, weightless in Steve's arms and all he knows is Steve Steve _Steve_ , he's so lost in the kiss. 

Tony curls his hand against the nape of Steve's neck, fingers twining around the short strands of Steve’s sweat drenched hair. He whimpers softly when Steve tightens his grip, pulling him flush until there's no space between them. The hard plastic of Steve's sports armor digs painfully into Tony's ribs, but it's all white noise drowned beneath the feeling of Steve's lips against his own. 

They only pull away when the other team members rush up to surround them, their screams of celebration nearly deafening. Tony gets caught in the mix, still held tight in Steve's arms as his team presses up around them.  He can't keep the happy smile from his face when Steve looks so happy and jubilant in his victory, kiss swollen lips stretched wide in a joyous grin. 

“State champions!” Bucky crows loudly, his arms linked around Thor’s to carry Clint on their shoulders.  

Steve finally puts Tony down when the rest of the school floods the field to congratulate the team. They're surrounded by celebrants offering congratulations but no matter how many people come up to them, Steve's hand is a constant warm weight between Tony's fingers. Steve shakes hands with the other team captain using his left hand because he refuses to let go of Tony for a single second, and Tony can't help but preen just a little at that. 

A dark haired sophomore who Steve greets jovially as Peter runs up to them to take photos for the school newspaper. Peter snaps their photo as Steve pulls Tony close, turning slightly to press his lips against Tony's cheek. Tony thinks he might be blushing beet red, and he can only hope the paper only prints in black and white. 

There's talk of a party at Thor's house as the stadium slowly empties, where there's an abundance of expensive alcohol and a distinct lack of caring parents. 

Steve rejoins him in the parking lot after he showers and changes out of his gear and Tony can't resist running his fingers through Steve's still-damp hair as they settle into the backseat. 

The drive to Thor’s passes in a blur, admittedly because Tony is far too busy trying to climb inside of Steve via his mouth to notice anything else. Sometime during the drive, Happy puts up the privacy screen. In one moment of clarity, Tony thinks they should probably talk about this and what it means for the contract, but then Steve hooks his fingers through his belt loops to pull him in for another kiss and Tony forgets everything that's not Steve. 

The enormous house is full by the time they arrive, packed to the rafters with the team and their friends, people from school, and even members of the opposing team. Someone found the controls for the speakers and there's loud music filtering from the sound system with enough bass to make the floors shake. There's a makeshift bar on the dining room table covered from one end to the other with bottles of everything from bourbon and whiskey to beer and soda. Someone tries to push a drink into Tony's hand as they weave through the crowd that's taken over Thor’s cavernous living room. 

They find their friends in the den as they walk through the house, Thor loudly and enthusiastically clapping Steve on the shoulder, clearly already several drinks deep if the empty plastic cups surrounding him are anything to go by. “Our captain!” he booms. Jane Foster from Tony's Advanced Physics class is perched next to him on the loveseat, sneaking glances his way every few minutes. Clint is sprawled on the couch between Sam and Natasha fielding admirers complimenting him on his winning play. He's laughing and joking but Tony can tell his hearing aids are switched off from his rapid fire signing asking Bucky to get him a drink. Steve waves to the other members of his team where they're gathered by the table of alcohol as they walk by. 

There are people everywhere, and everyone wants a piece of Steve as they try to move through the rooms. Steve's large hand is held tight in Tony's grip as they try to navigate through the well wishers, Steve politely but firmly circumventing any attempts at conversation. Steve uses his bulk to bulldoze through the swarm, pushing past the throngs of people crowding makeshift dance floor of Thor's dining room packed with gyrating bodies.  

They're distracted on the way to the kitchen for food when Steve laughingly asks Tony to dance as a slower song shuffles onto the speakers. At first, Tony doesn't think he means it but Steve's eyes are wide and earnest in the low light. 

“I'm not a very good dancer,” Tony warns him. 

“Me neither,” Steve says, moving in very close to be heard over the loud music. “Never really danced before.”

Tony smiles, slow and warm. He raises their hands where they're connected and gently spreads his fingers, Steve mirroring the action until they're pressed fingertip to fingertip, palm to palm. 

“Well then,” Tony says. “Guess I'm leading.”

“Guess so,” Steve agrees softly. 

For all of his grace on the field, Steve has two left feet when he dances. He steps on Tony's toes every couple of steps and Tony finds that he doesn't mind so much when Steve kisses him in apology each time. 

Eventually, they resort to simply holding each other close as they sway to the beat, Steve trying his best not to move his feet at all. Steve's hands are cupped loosely around the dip of Tony's waist, easily spanning the full width as his thumbs stroke along the line of his hips, slow and careful beneath the borrowed varsity jacket Tony is still wearing.  

Everything feels different that night, and Tony isn't sure if it's the high of victory or something else that allows him to believe the thundering of Steve's heartbeat beneath his palm might be meant for him. The haze of the darkened room and loud music that echoes in his bones allows Tony to be brave and stupid and he pretends just for a little while that this is real. 

“I love seeing you wear my colors,” Steve whispers against the shell of Tony's ear, sending shivers down his spine. His voice is barely audible above the music, a loud hip hop beat they ignore in favor of swaying slowly together, pressed nearly chest to chest. Steve's fingers are tracing his name stitched on Tony's breast, reverent and careful. “You look so good in red and blue.”

Tony smiles and arches closer, warmth washing over him. He wishes so hard for the truth in those whispered words, everything aches with the fervency of his desire. He's sure Steve can feel his echoing loud heart beneath his fingertips. 

Tony raises his arms to loop around Steve's wide shoulders as he tries to tuck his face against Steve's neck. He smells good from his post-game shower, like coconut and ocean. He wants to stay hidden in the curve of Steve's neck forever but Steve settles a gentle hand on the curve of Tony's jaw and tilts his head back up with the tips of his fingers until they're face to face again. 

“Is this okay?” he asks, his lips a hair's breadth away from Tony's mouth. 

Tony sees Peggy dancing with someone from the corner of his eye and ignores the sour taste that bubbles up behind his throat. He turns slightly so he no longer sees her and reaches up to pull Steve closer, letting the coconut ocean smell wash over him. 

“Yeah, this is perfect,” he lies and closes the minuscule distance between them. He wants to pretend for a little longer. 

 


	7. Chapter Six

Tony can almost fool himself into believing everything is perfect when he's gathered with his friends on the night before Christmas Eve decorating the house. It's admittedly a little late to start decorations with two days til the Big Day, but Tony has only just finished his finals the week before and spent the first couple of his days off of school editing yet another damn project for Howard, who decided he'll be spending the holidays in the Maldives.  

Tony has never really celebrated Christmas, not even when his mother was alive and Howard was slightly less of a dick. The holiday season was usually reserved for galas and events and fundraisers, Tony often left home alone with Jarvis and Ana or toted along like an accessory to be shown off. 

Last year after he lost his mother, Tony holed up in his lab, working on one project or another for SI and doing his best to ignore the festive cheer and forget things like holidays and families exist for other people. Pepper and Rhodey had to pull him out of his work just to eat. Their saddened fondness was often more painful and unbearable than lack of family ever felt. He’s never really known what a holiday should feel like, but he thinks maybe what he has now is what the storybooks and movies are trying to sell.

There's the sugar warm smell of baking cookies and the golden ginger heat of spiced cake wafting from the kitchen. Jarvis has been in a frenzy all afternoon, baking treats for Tony to bring over to Steve's for Christmas Eve. 

“You can't possibly go empty handed,” Jarvis had said earlier that day as he pulled ingredients from the fridge. “I will not allow it. It is rude after Miss Rogers has so graciously invited you to spend the holiday in her home. Now kindly get out of my kitchen. I have not yet forgotten about your green cupcake debacle, and you are absolutely not allowed to touch anything here.”

Outside the mansion, snow is fluttering down from a steel grey sky that is darkening deep purple, fat white flakes drifting lazily down from the clouds gathered above. From the windows, they can see Fifth Avenue sprawling aglow in bright cheerful yellow, warm and hazy in the winter fog.

Tony is gathered in the living room with his favorite people in the world, with the promise that Pepper will come by later with Rhodey who is finally home. Calling Rhodey hadn't been easy, but he had sighed much the same as Pepper, called him silly for worrying anything could've come between their friendship (“we've known each other for ten years, Tones. Have a little trust, man”) and promised to box his ears the moment he comes through the door for not telling him about Steve firsthand and he had to hear it from Pepper. All in all, Tony is relieved Rhodey is home. 

Steve is really playing up the part of the dutiful boyfriend that night, running to fetch whatever Tony wants for the enormous fir they set up by the living room windows and providing him with a constant supply of hot cocoa. Tony finally manages to pin him down when they start putting ornaments on the tree, and they find a spot on the rug with their friends as Tony curls up snug in Steve's lap. He folds himself across Steve's crossed legs and tucks his head beneath Steve's chin as Steve's big arms wrap around his back and over his knees to hold him steady. Tony sips happily at his hot cocoa, occasionally offering some to Steve as he contentedly watches their friends from his throne. 

Clint and Bucky sign back and forth with quick fluttering hands, arguing over the proper way to string popcorn together and Sam looks like he's a minute away from knocking their heads together. Natasha watches them with no small amount of amusement curling the edges of her lips as she sneaks handfuls of popcorn, and Bucky still hasn't realized why the bowl is emptying at such a rapid rate while Loki is arranging the other ornaments by color and bickering with Thor. Tony feels warm and comfortable and filled to the brim with contentment. 

Steve presses a kiss to the side of his head and without even thinking about it, Tony turns so Steve can give him a proper one on the lips. Something between them has changed since the night of the state championships. The kisses are more frequent and natural, the affection free flowing, and Tony can almost convince himself it's genuine. He’s decided he’ll just enjoy it while it lasts, while he can still pretend he has Steve. He’ll deal with the aftermath when it comes. 

They're interrupted by a kernel of popcorn hitting Steve on the nose, making him go cross eyed as he follows the trajectory to where it drops on the floor. Tony looks up to see Clint with more popcorn in his hand, ready to launch a full on assault. 

“Get a room,” Bucky says, raising his own fistful of kernels. 

“This is my house, Barnes,” Tony replies primly. “I can make out with my boyfriend wherever I want.” He pulls Steve into another kiss for emphasis, exaggeratedly dragging his tongue across Steve's lips as Steve grimaces but gamely pulls him closer. 

Cling and Bucky both make gagging noises as Sam grins and makes the second throw, a handful of popcorn hitting Tony on the cheek. It sparks all out war. 

Steve and Tony try to give as good as they get, but they don't stand a chance when the bowl is behind enemy lines. Steve makes the valiant effort of trying to shield Tony from the assault by turning his shoulder and trying to use his own body to protect Tony but between the team efforts of Clint, Bucky, Nat and Sam, the two of them get buried in popcorn. 

The indignity of their crushing defeat is worth all of the gut busting laughter and joy of having these ridiculous people as friends because just a few months ago, Tony would not have believed some of these people _can_ be his friends. He would never have expected half the football team to be laughing in his living room with Christmas carols playing from the speakers as they decorate for the holidays, warming his cold musty mansion. 

That's how Pepper and Rhodey find them when they arrive. Pepper’s cheeks are gorgeously pinked from the winter chill and Rhodey has certainly bulked up over the last few months. His shoulders are straining the woolen fabric of his coat, his dark hair cropped shorter than Tony’s ever seen, and his smile is so big, his eyes crinkle at the edges.

Tony scrambles out of Steve’s lap as soon as he sees them and runs at Rhodey with a loud cry, launching himself into Rhodey’s arms with a loud, “Sugarbear!” Pepper smiles affectionately as she walks over to greet Steve and the rest of their friends, leaving Tony with Rhodey.

Rhodey laughs as he catches him, pulling Tony in for a tight hug. Tony presses a smacking loud kiss to Rhodey’s cheek and says, “I missed you, platypus. Never leave me again. You're definitely not allowed back to MIT, they can’t have you. I'll buy the school this time if I have to, but you're not leaving me again.”

“It's nice to see you too, Tones,” Rhodey says affectionately, laughing. He still has an armful of clinging Tony, who absolutely refuses to let go of him, even when they make the rounds of introductions. 

Rhodey gets along with the team like a house on fire, especially with Steve, even when Rhodey is threatening him with bodily harm should he hurt Tony. 

“As I was telling you,” Rhodey is saying to Steve where they're chatting on the couch, cups of hot cocoa in hand, “Tones is delicate.”

“Not delicate!” Tony protests from where he's seated on the rug by Steve's feet, sorting through a pile of tangled garland. “Don't let the size fool you. I'm vicious and strong.”

“Yes you are,” Steve agrees softly, sliding his fingers gently through Tony's hair. Tony leans back against his legs and tilts his head up for a kiss. 

“You're going to learn one day to not just go along with everything he says,” Rhodey says wisely. 

“Hey!”

“But,” Rhodey continues as Steve laughs, “it _is_ your job to spoil him, so this is good so far. Because my best friend deserves the world, Steve, I'm sure you know that.”

“I do,” Steve says quietly, looking steadily at Tony. Tony can't quite read his expression but there's something warm and affectionate in his eyes and the warm hand settled at the nape of his neck feels like a promise. 

“Good!” Rhodey says cheerfully, smiling at the both of them. The smile grows blade sharp as he addresses Steve again, “so that means I don't have to tell you I _will_ kick your ass if you hurt Tones.”

“Oh my god,” Tony groans as Steve laughs. “If I knew you were going to go into that big brother mode of yours, I would've shut the door in your face. I take back what I said earlier. I'm shipping you back to your precious university right now. Get out of my house.”

“I just got here,” Rhodey says calmly. “Besides, you love me and miss me and you were a brat for not answering my calls and not telling me firsthand about Steve. By the way, Mama is cross with you too. She says you haven’t visited even once.”

Tony groans again, mashing his face against Steve's legs. “Fine,” he mutters. “You win that one.”

“You know I gotta give anyone you date the shovel talk,” Rhodey says. “It's part of my job as your best friend and big brother.”

Tony sighs. Steve pets his hair reassuringly. 

“I can take it,” Steve says bravely. 

“Good man,” Rhodey says. 

“Point is you don't have to,” Tony says. “It's an archaic and silly dick measuring contest and I'm not some bride parceled up with a dowry about to go to my new husband's village—”

“It's also part of my job as your best friend and big brother,” Rhodey says, ignoring him, and Tony does _not_ like the tone of his voice at all, “to tell Steve how glad I am you're both finally together. Anyways, Steve, did you know Tony has had a crush on you since—”

“Okay!” Tony interrupts loudly. “That's enough of the Let’s Embarrass Tony Hour. Who wants cookies? I want cookies. I love cookies. It's cookie time.” He hops up off the floor and runs for the kitchen before anyone can reply, the sound of their laughter trailing after him like merrily ringing bells. 

Despite the embarrassed heat in his cheeks, Tony feels elated, his footsteps light and floaty. He hasn't been so happy in—who even knows how long. He likes to think it's mostly because his best friend is home now if only for a brief week, but he also has his new friends to thank, friends he never knew he could have. And they're all because of Steve, who probably makes him happiest out of all. 

Steve whose smile shines the brightest in his eyes, his laughter warm, and his affection freeflowing. Tony has never known anyone as tactile as Steve, who's always eager to sling an arm around his shoulders and press a kiss to his lips. 

Tony realizes what's happening. He's making himself an easy offering, and why shouldn't Steve have some fun while he's waiting to win back the person he truly wants, when Tony is so shamelessly eager? And just like that, the happiness dims a little in the short distance between his living room and the kitchen. 

Jarvis already has a plate stacked high with the cookies he baked that morning waiting for him. He's smiling softly at Tony from where he sits at the counter, sipping his tea. 

“It gladdens my heart to have the house warm and full of laughter again,” Jarvis says. 

Tony sighs, wonders if he's ever known the mansion to be warm and full of laughter but he doesn't say that. “Yeah,” he agrees instead. 

Jarvis gets out of his seat and comes to stand next to Tony. He strokes a hand through Tony's hair like he used to do when he was a boy, a habit Jarvis hasn't indulged in years and one Tony doesn't realize he missed as much as he did until he aches from the familiarity of the touch. 

“It does make me happy to see you happy, Anthony,” Jarvis says. “There is nothing I want more in this world than for you to be happy and warm and loved.”

Tony's heart clenches tight, can't bear to tell Jarvis he's not, not really. Because nothing is real and it'll all end soon. Steve is going to leave once Peggy takes him back and Tony will be left in this cold house to pick up the pieces of his own foolish heart. 

“Thank you, J,” he murmurs, stubbornly trying not to think of that inevitable future. He rubs absently at his chest as he leans against Jarvis, standing in a comfortable silence for a moment while they watch the snow fall outside the kitchen windows. 

“You know, I think I might take up painting again when I retire,” Jarvis says apropos of nothing. Tony frowns slightly at the abrupt change in subject as Jarvis continues, “I often painted when I was younger. I drew a lot too. You might guess who my favorite subject was.”

“Ana?” Tony asks with a smile tugging at his lips. 

“Yes,” Jarvis says. “She was—still is, quite beautiful, and I like to think that nothing makes anyone more beautiful than when we look at them when we're in love. Love rosetints our vision and it makes us blind to all but our darlings even in a crowded room. I've filled sketchbook after sketchbook with drawings of Ana, trying my hardest to capture the exact light in her eyes and the graceful arch of her hand that I love so much.”

Tony remembers the framed sketches and paintings hung in Jarvis’s house. He remembers asking about them when he was little and Ana's proud answers. He thinks also of the eyes and hands Steve doodles in the notes he gives Tony, and wonders who they belong to. 

“Anyways,” Jarvis continues, “I don't think I shall ever be able to capture exactly those things, but I'll be happy to spend the rest of my life trying. I do look forward to drawing and painting again.”

“You should, J,” Tony says around the lump in his throat. “Your paintings are beautiful.”

“Thank you, Anthony,” Jarvis says. “It means a lot that you think so. But these old hands don't work as well as they used to. It'll be a challenge to paint again.”

“You're not old,” Tony protests. 

Jarvis smiles sadly as he places a plate of cookies in Tony's hands. “Lies are unbecoming of you. Now I believe your friends are waiting,” he says. “Also, do visit us after Christmas when you have the time. Ana has been complaining about how she hasn't seen you in nearly a year. We don't only exist on birthdays and holidays you know,” he chides. 

Tony smiles and stands on his toes to kiss Jarvis on the cheek. “Pass that on to Ana for me, J. I'll come by day after Christmas.”

“See that you do, sir,” Jarvis says gently, his answering smile wide and warm. 

… 

Christmas at Steve's house is an Affair, with a capital A. Sarah and Steve have been cooking all day, and Tony can smell it as soon as he steps inside the house. He is greeted at the door by Steve pressing a kiss to his cheek and the delicious smell of warmed eggnog and toasted hazelnuts wafting from the kitchen. 

“Happy has the day off and I took the train here all by myself,” Tony announces as he shoves the packages of cookies and spice cake Jarvis baked into Steve's arms and loads the boxes of presents he brought on top. 

“Wow, I'm so proud of you,” Steve tells him, the corner of his lip is tugged up in a grin, his face barely visible from behind the stack of parcels. 

“You should be,” Tony replies, stripping off his coat and scarf. “I had to wait for over half an hour for a downtown train and I didn't give in to the urge to call an Uber. Why the hell does _nothing_ run on a holiday?”

Steve looks like he's trying his best not to laugh. “Oh poor you. I once waited over an hour during a snowstorm, only for them to finally announce they were closing the station.”

“It's not a competition, Steven,” Tony sniffs haughtily. “It's unnecessary pain is what it is.”

“Welcome to the rest of the world,” Steve replies cheerfully. “That's what it's like for us regular folk. We're forever at the mercy of the subway system.”

“Unnecessary,” Tony repeats under his breath. “When I take over the world, I'm going to overhaul that facsimile of a viable infrastructure and make it actually functional.”

“I look forward to it,” Steve says as they make their way towards the kitchen. 

They pass the tree tucked in the corner of the living room Tony had helped decorate two weeks ago. It's so tall, the top of the star is brushing the ceiling. It's bedecked in lights and a hodgepodge of ornaments Sarah has from her family passed down through the generations, with presents piled beneath the lowermost boughs. There are stacks of candles flickering merrily in the defunct fireplace, the mantle strung with holly and sparkling gold garland. Christmas carols are playing on the radio and Tony can see Sarah puttering around in the kitchen as they step through the entry. 

It's so very different from the Stark mansion even after the huge house was filled with cheer from his friends. The Rogers house isn't oppressively large and empty, bright where it's cold and drafty, and not inhabited by ghosts that won’t leave. It's cozy and warm and filled with love, and Tony is so grateful to be invited to be there. 

Sarah prepares Christmas dinner for just the three of them on Christmas Eve, with the big Christmas dinner taking place with family on the actual holiday. Steve had invited Tony to go with them to his aunt’s house for the big dinner, but Tony thinks they’ve taken things too far already for a fake relationship. While he doesn't regret meeting Sarah Rogers for even a single second, he would feel like a fraud going to his big family holiday dinner. So he lies, saying Howard expects him at some Stark Industries gala for that day. 

Christmas Eve dinner is warm and full of laughter and Sarah insists on piling Tony’s plate with her delicious cooking until he's about to explode. Then, she stuffs him some more with mincemeat pie and chocolate mousse until he begs for mercy. Satisfied, Sarah bids them good night soon after dinner with a kiss on the cheek for each of them, and heads up to her room early. 

Afterwards, he and Steve collapse on the sofa with rapid onset food coma. Tony can do little more than loll his head over the sofa back to blink blearily at Steve who looks just as dazed as he feels while old Christmas movies play ignored on the TV. 

“I’m sleepy,” Tony murmurs sometime after ten. They're halfway through _Miracle on Thirty-Fourth Street_ but the sound is on mute. He sits up as he yawns, tugging at Steve’s hand. His brain feeling like it's drowning in molasses and he struggles to stay awake. “There’s no way I’m making it back uptown tonight. Let’s go to bed.”

“M-my room?” Steve stammers, his cheeks slightly pink as he sits up too. 

“Unless you have a guest room I don’t know about, yes, Steve,” Tony says slowly, waking up a bit more. “Don’t be a blushing virgin now, you’ve slept over at mine several times now. You already know I snore but I won’t grope you in my sleep.”

“My room,” Steve repeats as though he doesn’t quite understand, “is, uh, really—messy. It’s messy!”

Tony’s brow furrows in confusion. “So? You’ve seen mine a mess tons of times.”

“Yeah but,” Steve says, his cheeks turning redder, “mine is like. Ridiculous. Atrocious.”

Tony frowns. He realizes in that moment he’s never actually seen Steve’s room before despite the many times he’s been over at the Rogers house. They usually spend most of the time in the living room and then dinner in the kitchen before Tony goes home for the night. He wonders if the room is really as horribly messy as Steve claims, or if he’s hiding something. Like a Peggy shrine. 

“Let's build a fort,” Steve says suddenly. He hops up off the couch and heads for the hall closet. 

“A what,” Tony says, not quite understanding. He's still confused when a pillow hits him in the chest and he blinks down at it, not comprehending. 

“You've never built a fort before?” Steve asks, arranging a quilt atop a haphazard frame he made with the love seat and some kitchen chairs. 

“Maybe when I was like, five,” Tony replies, still perplexed as he finds himself staring at Steve covering the nest of blankets he made on the floor. 

“You're missing out,” Steve replies, taking his hand to coax him off the couch. The fort he made is cozy and dark, the light coming from the Christmas tree and candles just enough to allow them to see. Steve has arranged pillows and throws on the rug and Tony finds himself cushioned in blankets when Steve tugs him inside the space created by the strung up quilt. 

Tony doesn’t ask about his room again. He supposes he has no right to question Steve about whatever is in there, Peggy shrine or serial killer trophies or otherwise. If Steve doesn’t want to show him, there’s no reason for him to feel hurt about it. 

“Never had anyone to build a fort with,” Tony replies, not wanting to tell Steve that he never had the luxury of simple childhood pleasures like this. Most of his childhood was spent shadowing Howard so he could learn the workings of SI and after that, he was building projects and manufacturing weapons for his father's company. 

“I didn't either,” Steve says softly from where he lays sprawled on his own pile of pillows. “I would just build them for myself. I don't know if you know this, but I was very poor growing up.”

Tony shakes his head. “No, I didn't know that.” 

“It's okay,” Steve says, smiling gently. “We're doing better now but we were poor when I was very little. Sometimes, the shitty places we lived in didn't have any heat in the winter. Building a fort helped keep me warm, because the space between the blankets was small enough to be warmed by a little electric heater. I was sick a lot when I was a kid. So I would spend a lot of time between blankets like that, trying my best to keep warm. We couldn't afford for me to get sick again and run up another medical bill.”

Tony's heart clenches in his chest. Instinctively, he reaches out in the dark to tangle his fingers with Steve's, squeezing encouragingly and shifts to lay on his side so he can see Steve's expression. 

“Ma was so happy when Buck and I got into our school,” Steve continues. “The testing program paid our tuition and she was so relieved knowing I got into a good school. She thinks there's a better chance of me getting into a good college with our prestige, but if you ask me, it just makes it harder with smartypants like you and Jane Foster always topping the dean's list,” he says. There's no hint of resentment in his voice, but rather something that sounds a lot like pride. “Now we just have to get one of those fancy football scholarships. I think maybe my chances are pretty good after we won state. The Boston College scout was watching the game and he only had good things to say, but there’s that pesky little AP Lit grade I need to bring up.”

There's a lump in Tony's throat he has to work past to ask, “And what happens if you don't get one?”

“I'll join the army I guess,” Steve says, one corner of his mouth lifting higher, but his expression is clouded with sadness. “My dad served, before I was born. There aren’t that many options for someone like me. I’m not well off like the other kids at school. I wouldn't be able to pay my own tuition and I'm not going to burden my ma with a loan, not with Da gone.”

Tony doesn't quite know what to say to that, but his chest freezes cold at the thought of Steve enlisting. It's the same cold feeling he gets when he thinks of Rhodey's future in the Air Force, when his best friend will be overseas and there will be nothing Tony can do to protect either of them. He thinks of his father's weapons, and the words bubble up to beg Steve to never consider something like that, but it's not his plea to make. He can easily pay Steve's tuition to any college he likes but he knows Steve would never take his money. Not strong independent Steve who works hard for everything he has. It would be insulting to even offer. 

Steve's eyes are half lidded when he lifts Tony's hand to brush a kiss against his knuckles. “My dad, he wasn't around often, but he did his best,” he says, likely misreading Tony's stricken expression. “He worked a lot so we would never go hungry. Worked himself into an early grave,” Steve says sadly, his gaze looking far away. “But he always made time during Christmas so we could be together as a family.”

“I'm glad,” Tony says honestly, his words working around the lump rising in his throat. His heart is aching for Steve. When he reaches up with his free hand to trace along the edge of Steve's jaw with his thumb, he can feel Steve's pulse beneath his fingers. “I'm glad your dad was amazing and I'm glad your mom is the strongest and most wonderful woman ever.” 

“I'm sorry,” Steve says, smiling softly. “I'm just rambling on and on about myself.”

“Don't be sorry,” Tony says. “I like learning about you. I think we could've been good friends if we tried—before.”

The look Steve gives him is unreadable. “Yeah, maybe,” he agrees. “Maybe things would've been different.”

“Maybe,” Tony echoes. 

"But maybe," Steve says quietly, "things happen the way they do for a reason."

Tony strokes his fingertips along the side of Steve's face as they lull into a stretch of silence for a while. Just when he thinks maybe the conversation is over and Steve doesn't want to tell him anything else, he really doesn't expect any more, he's lucky to even know this much about Steve already, Steve speaks again. 

“We had a tradition,” Steve says, his smile fond and wistful, “my parents and I. We would build a pillow fort, just like this one, and try our best to stay up till midnight on Christmas Eve. We would hide inside so Santa wouldn't know we were awake at midnight,” Steve laughs, his expression sad and wistful. “This year is our first Christmas without Da. It didn’t feel right to not continue the fort tradition, but I don’t think Ma can bear to do it this year. I never did make it to midnight though. I always fell asleep around half past eleven.”

“We'll make it this year,” Tony promises softly, his heart clenching painfully in his chest.  

“It's only ten forty now,” Steve says, glancing at his phone. He reaches over to pull Tony closer until he's laying half sprawled on top of Steve with his head pillowed on Steve's chest. “I'm not so sure we can make it either the food coma creeping in. We should probably set an alarm.”

Tony hums in agreement and tucks his nose in the space between Steve's neck and shoulder. The smell of coconuts and ocean settles him, and he lets the rhythm of Steve's breathing lull him into contented silence. They don't say anything for a long time, simply laying in the fort together cocooned in warmth and ignoring everything outside of their little world. 

He barely notices Steve's arm wrapping snugly around his waist and their legs tangling together as he dozes off. He's sure a little nap until midnight won't hurt. They'll wake up just in time. 

“The pillow fort is great,” Tony murmurs sleepily. “Trust a giant dork like you to still make ‘em.”

“Shut up, nerd,” Steve tells him, laughing slightly. Tony can feel the vibrations of his chuckles reverberate against the front of his chest.

“Hey—” Tony protests weakly, letting the steady rhythm of Steve’s breathing lull him to sleep. The last thing he feels as he drifts off is the feather light touch of Steve's lips against his forehead.  

They forget to set the alarm and end up sleeping straight past midnight. Tony wakes up in the early hours of morning cuddled with Steve beneath the pillowfort. It's a quarter after two and he is so warm and comfortable, he is loath to get up. He impulsively presses a small kiss to Steve's lips thinking he's still asleep. He doesn't expect Steve's arms to curl tighter around his waist and for Steve to sleepily return the kiss so fervently.

Long fingers reach up to tangle in Tony's hair as gentle hands tilt his head slightly for the perfect angle, their mouths slotting together as Steve's tongue slips between the open seam of Tony's lips. Tony can feel broad hands brushing over the ladder of his ribs beneath his shirt, the touch like liquid fire against his skin. He gasps, every nerve alight with sparks as he tries to get as close as possible. 

Tony isn't sure how long they kiss for, but it's not for nearly long enough. He's breathless by the time Steve moves away, the end of the kiss tapering off slow and languid, turning into sleepy little butterfly kisses peppered along the line of Tony's jaw before ending with little nuzzles of Steve's nose against the sensitive skin of his neck. Tony's heart is jackhammering out of his chest, painful and stuttering but he can't get enough of this, can't get enough of Steve. He curls his fingers into Steve's shirt and holds on tight. 

Steve's eyes are half lidded and dark in the dim light when he raises his head slightly. His voice is rumble deep when he says regretfully, “we didn't make it.”

“No,” Tony replies, smiling despite the fact. “But merry Christmas.”

“There's always next year,” Steve murmurs, looking like he's already drifting off again. “Merry Christmas, Tony.”

 _Next year._ Tony's heart cracks open, the familiar feeling of heartbreak washing over him at those words. He knows Steve is still half asleep and he probably didn't mean that. Or maybe he thinks they can be real friends once everything is over and done, but Tony doesn't know if he can be strong enough to be around Steve once Peggy is back in the picture. Not after having a minuscule taste of what being with Steve could be like.

He rubs his hand over his chest and sighs softly, releasing his breath slowly so he won't wake Steve. He closes his eyes, presses closer, and tries to go back to sleep. 

 


	8. Chapter Seven

The last week of winter vacation passes with a blur of SI projects Howard unloads on Tony after demanding deadlines for the first week of January. Tony spends his days and nights in his lab at home, calling Jarvis to let him know he’s sorry, but he won’t be able to visit after all. He can hear the disappointment in Jarvis’s voice when he sighs, and there’s the reminder to eat again. 

Tony doesn't tell Jarvis he barely has time to take a breath with three prototypes he needs to build, much less eat. He sustains himself on handfuls of leftover mincemeat pie Sarah had packed home for him and cup after cup of cold stale coffee to keep himself awake. 

He barely notices the days passing, the hours smudging into one another, and he loses sense of time as the minutes tick past while he’s frantically trying to solve equations and calculate measurements. Every inch of his dry erase board and all of his monitors are filled from corner to corner with numbers. 

His fingers are singed from soldering, his nail beds blackened with grease. Everytime he reaches up to run frustrated hands over his hair and face, more grime gets smeared onto his skin. He's sure he looks a frightful mess, probably enough to summon a Sullen Steve Stare followed by a lot of fussing. 

Tony works until he forgets about his friends’ worries. He doesn’t want to think about Steve at all, because he knows, feels it bone deep that this thing, this fantasy with Steve is ending soon. They’ve been doing this for so long, he sometimes forgets it’s not real, until something sharply reminds him that he’s only on borrowed time. Today, it’s a particular shade of red on the wire he’s tooling into a motherboard that reminds him of Peggy’s lipstick. 

Eventually Tony’s mind spins in circles until he thinks he might go crazy if his lab is silent any longer. He puts on a playlist and pushes the volume higher to drown out the rest of the guilt he feels and the yammering pestilent thoughts. On the fourth day, he turns off his messages and sends all of his calls to voicemail. 

Pepper and Rhodey had tried earlier in the week before he turned off all notifications to get him to go out for New Year's Eve. He tells Pepper and Rhodey he’s fine, deflects their questions and sure, he’ll take a break and come out for the night. They’ll have a great time, go to one of the parties in the city, or book a hotel room and have their own, drink the last vestiges of the year away. Yeah, of course he'll come out. 

He doesn’t. He's not going to be the third wheel when Rhodey is shipping out the morning after New Year. 

It’s minutes to midnight on New Year’s Eve and Tony is still working, eyeballs deep in fine tuning the lines of his latest code while Queen blares from his speakers. He’s deep in concentration staring at his screen, arranging and rearranging what he already has, but the damn thing still won’t work properly. He’s nodding along to the music, staring critically at a line that simply will not cooperate when he feels the hairs on the back of his neck prickle up, and before he can turn, huge arms wind around his waist and pull him snug against a broad chest behind him.

Tony swivels quickly and nearly elbows whoever is behind him before he realizes it’s Steve. It’s just Steve. _Stevestevestevestevesteve_ pounds with every stutter of his heart. 

Steve’s concerned face is enough to calm his rabitting heart slightly, and he presses a shaking hand to his chest. Tony doesn’t even realize he’s gasping for breath until Steve is rubbing his back, murmuring in a soft apologetic voice barely audible over _Another One Bites the Dust_ , “Just breathe. Gosh, Tony I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you so badly. I thought you heard me calling your name. Jesus, I’m so sorry. Breathe. Just breathe.”

“Holy fucking shit,” Tony gasps, staring up wide eyed at Steve. He taps blindly at his console until the music shuts off, and suddenly everything is so quiet, he feels slightly disoriented. “Is this a hallucination? If you’re just a mirage, don’t tell real Steve I haven’t slept in days and this is probably onset delirium. If you _are_ real Steve, how are you here? How did you even get into my house?”

“Pepper gave me the keycode when you didn’t answer her calls,” Steve says, ignoring Tony’s mutters about betrayal. He pushes a brown paper bag into Tony's hands. “And what do you mean you haven’t slept in _days_?”

Tony winces. “Like, _a_ day?” he tries sheepishly, digging into the bag to find a chicken parm, still warm and wrapped in foil. 

“How many, Tony?”

Tony sighs, caving under Steve’s concerned frown as gentle hands brush the hair from his forehead. “Almost a week,” he mumbles, rubbing at his sternum.

The reprimand Tony is expecting doesn't come. Instead, one of Steve's hands covers his own on his chest and his fingertips are light where they tenderly touch Tony's cheek, thumb sweeping over the dark smudges under his eyes. His lips follow his fingers, a gentle kiss pressed to Tony's cheek followed by the softest of sighs. 

“What are you working on?” Steve asks, a question Tony doesn't expect and leaves him slightly tongue tied. 

“It's just SI stuff,” Tony finally says. “Just crap Howard wanted me to build and it's not even working properly right now, the code is a mess and I'm still trying to figure out the right components. It's not really good enough to talk about yet. It's not done or anything. It's really boring,” he finishes lamely. 

Steve hums in consideration, his eyes roving around the lab, taking in the haphazard pile of metal in the corner, the benches and counters scattered throughout the large space, the bank of monitors anchored to the wall behind them, the detritus of tools and parts laying on every available surface, and the threadbare couch pushed against the far wall where Tony powernaps when he has a spare moment. It's the first time Steve has been down in the mansion’s basement, Tony realizes. 

“I don't think anything you do can ever be boring, Tony,” Steve says when he turns back to him. “I might not completely understand whatever it is you're working on, but I want to know. If you want to tell me.” 

Steve’s eyes are bright and steady, and his expression is earnest and open. He actually means it. 

Tony inexplicably wants to cry. No one has ever really cared enough to ask what he's working on before. Everyone always assumes it’s Important Classified SI Business, leave Tony to it, it's going to take a while, he’s going to hole up in his lab doing who knows what.  

So Tony tells him. He tells Steve about the new missile the Department of Defense contracted Stark Industries to build with a backup repulsor wave that has the power to decimate an entire city block after its initial blast. He tells him about the new combat aircrafts they're trying to develop with flat turbines in the wings capable of advanced stealth and capacity for more weaponry. He tells him he's on the brink of real artificial intelligence, and if he succeeds, it'll change war forever. 

But Tony doesn't tell Steve how much he hates it, hates how he's been set on the path to be a merchant of death long before he even understood what war means. He doesn't tell Steve about the sleepless nights spent awake thinking about his name printed on weapons deployed to destroy cities and lives. He doesn't tell Steve the screams he hears in his head and the roar of explosions he knows he made. He doesn't tell Steve he can't watch the news anymore, can't stomach any of it. He doesn’t tell Steve he dreams often of Rhodey in a fighter jet getting shot down by a Stark Industries drone. He doesn't tell Steve how sick it made him feel to ever think Steve might've thought of signing up to add his name to the list of men and women dying too young. 

Steve listens with rapt attention, not interrupting once, but once Tony is done pointing out the different projects, he says with a sorrowful tone, “you hate doing this.”

Tony laughs, humorless. “I'm earning my keep,” he quotes from Howard. 

Steve frowns but doesn't push anymore. 

“I have so much left to do,” Tony sighs, trying to give Steve an out. “I'm not going to be any fun tonight.”

“I'll stay with you,” Steve says. “I'll keep you company.”

Tony had expected Steve to try to get him to go to bed, insist he needs some rest, but he's inordinately grateful that Steve doesn't. “You don't have to do that,” he says, his voice suddenly hoarse. 

“I want to,” Steve replies, and Tony almost smiles, thinking of old conversations when Steve said that exact same thing. And he knows by now that it's a foregone conclusion that if Steve Rogers wants to do something, there's no stopping him. Steve busses a kiss to Tony's temple and steps away to settle down on the couch. 

Tony finds it comforting somehow to know Steve is sitting in the corner of his lab as he works and nibbles his way through the sandwich Steve brought. He doesn't even need the loud music when Steve is there. His mind is clearer than it's been in days and he goes back to his code with renewed energy, getting lost in the lines. He's resolved almost all the bugs by the time he raises his head again, hours later. There are only a few minor kinks left to fix. Maybe he should have Steve around more often.  

Tony looks over to the far side of the room and sees Steve on the couch bent over a piece of scrap paper, scribbling away with a pencil nub. His brow is furrowed in concentration, bottom lip caught between his teeth as he squints at something on his paper. 

Tony can’t help the warmth that swells in his chest when he watches Steve at work. The realization comes that he’s never seen Steve concentrate on something so hard before, outside of football. He must be working on something important. 

Tony grins and begins to quietly pad across the room. Steve startles a little when Tony drops down onto the cushion next to him but relaxes immediately. 

“Done already?” Steve asks, his arm automatically coming up to wrap around Tony’s shoulders.

Tony hums contentedly as he snuggles up against Steve’s side. “Almost. I can take a little break. What are you working on?” he asks, nodding at the paper on Steve's knee. 

“Your note for today,” Steve says, pushing it towards Tony. 

Tony takes the piece of paper between cramping fingers and what he sees on the page takes his breath away. It's _him._

There he is on the sheet of paper, hunched over his worktop with an expression of concentration scrunching his face, a portrait of determination. The drawing is rendered in gentle strokes of grease pencil with lines that speak of great tenderness, meticulous care forming the curves of his face, the line of his nose, the shadow of his brow, the bow of his lips. Most prominent are the eyes, where Steve clearly spent the most time. Graceful curves define the shape of his lid, shadowing the wet gleam of his iris framed with dark wispy lashes, softly lit by the glow of the screen in front of him. The drawing on the page is undeniably him, but Tony has never seen himself look like that before.

It's the expression Steve captured in the eyes that stuns Tony the most, the exhaustion and intensity etched in black and white on the page, expressive and lovely. They're far too beautiful to really be his eyes, but he recognizes them finally. He realizes with a heart clenching pang they’re the same eyes Steve always draws in his notes. Those drawings are usually simple little things flowing in generous curving lines and rough hatches to indicate the barest hints of shadow. Steve draws a lot of hands, Tony remembers and he'd never really thought too hard about the scribbles until now. 

He had wondered if they're just random classmates Steve sees and sketches from observation, or if the sad eyes framed with long lashes and the rough hands with a slightly crooked pinky Steve always draws belong to someone in particular. Someone Steve can't stop thinking about. And now Tony knows. He’s the one Steve is always drawing.

“ _Oh_ ,” Tony breathes, feeling the breath knocked out of him. He can barely speak around the lump that suddenly rises in his throat. “This is so beautiful…. Is that—is that how I really look like to you?”

Steve's eyes are steady and impossibly blue when he looks back at him. “Yes,” he says. 

They should talk about this, they really need to clear everything up and vocalize what this all means—if it means anything at all. Tony knows this logically, knows it’s the right thing to do, but his hands move of their own accord. Before he fully realizes what he’s doing, his fingers are curling into the fabric of Steve’s sweater and dragging him close and Steve is mirroring his motions, large hands sliding beneath Tony's shirt to encircle his waist. 

Their lips find each other with ecstatic fervor as Steve surges forward to meet him. Tony finds himself tugged into Steve’s lap as they kiss, and he winds his arms tight around Steve’s shoulders, reluctant to part for even a moment. Which is why he’s confused when Steve begins to pull away, a low whine edging out of his throat as Steve holds him steady with a hand at the nape of his neck. 

“We should probably talk about this,” Steve says reasonably, his voice gravel rough. Tony knows this, agrees with this, just thought about this, but he’s so so _so_ greedy to have any part of Steve he is allowed.

“Tomorrow,” Tony whimpers, heat curling low in his belly as Steve's eyes darken instantly, pupils blown wide. Tony watches avidly as Steve wets his lips, eyes tracking the swipe of his pink tongue and the bob of his throat as he swallows, and that’s the end of his patience. He pulls Steve back in for another desperate kiss that's all slick tongue and clinking teeth and bumped noses, wet and messy. 

Steve laughs softly and steadies him with his thumb stroking along Tony's jaw, easing the kiss into something slower, sweeter. Tony feels a rush of blood that heats liquidhot through him as he arches closer to Steve, who moans lowly when he shifts in his lap. Steve's fingers are burning pressure points on the crest of Tony's hip and they grip tighter as he shifts again, earning another sound from low in his throat that Tony would do anything to hear again and again. 

“Is-is this okay?” Steve rasps when they finally part for breath and Tony whines. 

“Yes yes _yes_ ,” Tony replies, his voice little more than a breathy sigh. He can't help but notice the way Steve's eyes dilate at the sound. “I'm going to fucking kill you if you stop—” his voice breaking apart into a stuttering gasp as Steve presses open mouthed kisses along the column of his neck and the side of his jaw. “Yeah, this is _so_ okay, more than okay, better than okay, this is so fucking great—” Tony rambles until Steve moves back up to press their lips together again. 

Somewhere along the way, Tony gathers enough brain function to tug insistently on Steve's sweater. Thankfully, he gets the hint and in seconds, miles and miles of glorious smooth skin is bared for Tony's eyes and fingers and lips. 

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Tony murmurs as he trails reverent fingers over the contours of Steve's chest, feeling the shift of muscle beneath his palm. 

“That’s not my name,” Steve smirks, smoothing his hands over the line of Tony's waist, fingers curling around the hem of his shirt, questioning. 

“Jealous when I call out another man’s name in bed with you?” Tony laughs and obediently raises his arms as Steve slides off his shirt. 

“Mm, very much so,” Steve replies, his gaze focused intently on where Tony's skin is bared. 

Tony is regretting it almost immediately when he looks so small next to Steve. Steve is all glorious golden skin and defined muscle. Tony is scrawny and skinny, the hints of his ribcage shadowing his skin from his long work nights and days when he forgets to eat. He's tempted to cover himself, but the look on Steve's face stop his hand from reaching for his shirt. 

Steve's normally clear blue eyes are darkly intense as he trails long fingers up and down the sensitive skin of Tony’s ribs and skims over his sternum, tracing circles over his burning skin. Steve buries his face against Tony's clavicle as large hands span his chest. The pads of his fingers brush against the peaks of his nipples, and Tony groans, arching up into the touch. 

“You’re so beautiful. I wish I could draw you like this,” Steve says, ducking down to press his lips to the dip of his throat and Tony aches from the heat he hears in Steve’s voice. 

“If you're good, maybe I'll let you,” Tony somehow manages to tease, and something dangerous and feral glints in Steve's eyes at his words. 

“Yeah?” Steve says. He seems to take it as a challenge, and resumes his kisses with new determination, leaving Tony breathless and overheated as he squirms in Steve's lap. 

“ _Steve_ ,” Tony moans as kisses trail down his jaw to his shoulder and further still to his wrist. Tony had never really given much thought to his hands as erogenous zones but he quickly realizes just how sensitive they are when Steve brushes soft little kisses along his knuckles and drags his lips along the calloused webbing between his fingers. He drops a final kiss to Tony's palm before coming up again to press his mouth against the column of Tony's neck. 

Feeling brave, Tony runs his palms along the length of Steve's torso just to watch him shiver, feeling the bubbling rise of laughter in his throat when Steve mirrors his motions. His heart is pounding away in his chest, loud _thump thump thump_ s that has him wondering if Steve can hear it being pressed so close. His breath is coming in rapid little hitches by the time Steve's hands grip the crest of his hip, fingers dipping into his waistband and with another surge of courage, Tony reaches down to unbutton his own fly and push his pants down. 

Steve's eyes are blown nearly black when he raises his head again to look at Tony, his lips swollen and pink from their kisses. “Have you done this before?” Steve asks, a furrow of concern creasing his brow. 

Not for the first time, Tony wonders fondly how someone like Steve Rogers even exists. He shakes his head. “No,” he admits. “But I want to.”

“Well then,” Steve says, a slow smile tugging the corner of his lips. “Guess I'm leading.”

Tony's breath hitches in his throat, remembering the night they danced at Thor's house. “Guess so,” he agrees softly, and his voice strangles in his throat when Steve drops down to kneel on the floor between his legs and takes Tony's hard cock with one gentle hand. 

“Trust me?” Steve asks. 

Tony can barely get any air into his lungs, all of his blood flowing south and down and everything is electric and warm. “Y-yeah,” he manages to choke, feeling his cheeks heating pink when he looks down at the open softness of Steve's expression. 

“Thank you,” Steve breathes, and before Tony has any time to wonder why he is thanking him, Steve leans forward and closes his lips around the head of Tony's cock. 

“Holy shit!” Tony yelps, startling at the sudden wet heat that surrounds him. 

It feels so good Tony feels as though his brain might short circuit at any moment, his heart is going haywire and his breath is coming in choked gasps. He can't concentrate on anything but the feeling of Steve's mouth on him, alternating between licking broad stripes along the underside of his dick and sucking around the head before taking him deep to the root. He tangles his fingers in Steve's hair and he's all but done for when Steve looks up at him from beneath golden lashes, eyes heated and affectionate. 

Tony lasts an embarrassing total of one and a half minutes, surprised he even made it that long when Steve is looking at him like that. He only makes it past the minute mark because he’s counting the seconds to stave off his orgasm. He’s tumbling off the edge when he feels Steve’s hand trail down from the base of his cock to press his palm up against his balls. Long fingers reach back to trace gentle circles around his rim, a soft touch that electrifies every part of Tony and he can feel the heat rushing from his belly down, toes curling against the floor and his harsh grip on Steve’s hair must hurt. He tries to warn Steve, but Steve only grips his thighs tight and swallows, sighing as Tony comes down his throat. 

“What the fuck,” Tony whispers, chest heaving as he flops back against the couch to stare at the ceiling. 

“Is that a good _what the fuck_ , or a bad _what the fuck_?” Steve asks, his voice deliciously hoarse as he climbs back onto the couch on top of Tony. He looks smug and satisfied, a little grin curling the edge of his lips. 

Tony gives him an unamused look. “A horrible, _horrendous_ one,” he replies, knowing the teasing laughter behind his voice belies the truth. He's delighted to see Steve's smile crack into a wide grin. 

Steve leans down to press a kiss against his jaw, rumbling the words into his skin, “guess we’ll just have to practice until it becomes so good, you can't even say anything afterwards.”

 _Practice._ “Is that so?” Tony can feel where Steve is pressed thick and hard against his thigh and the only thought that comes to mind is _holy fuck_ as his brain short circuits and completely fries again. He's reaching down and pushing his palm against Steve when a strong hand gently grips his wrist and stops him. 

“Another time,” Steve says. “You need to sleep.” He cuddles closer and winds an arm around Tony's waist holding him snug. 

“No I don’t,” Tony protests, his words tapering off into a wide yawn. 

Steve laughs softly, shifting them both to lay more comfortably on the narrow cushions. “You clearly do. Stop pouting.”

“‘M not pouting.”

“Go to sleep, Tony.”

“Yeah okay,” Tony agrees, his eyelids already drooping. “Fine. You win this time.”

… 

Steve tries to talk about it the next morning, and the day after, and the day after that. But each time he tries to bring up the subject, Tony panics and distracts him with desperate kisses until they forget they were ever trying to talk at all. 

Tony is being a coward, but he does not want to talk about _this_ , whatever it is _this_ has become. He feels sick to his stomach of the idea what if they were to have a real conversation of what they're doing, Steve will come to his senses and remember the real goal. 

Tony doesn't want it to end, not when it feels so good to be in Steve's arms and to feel his touch and to see the adoration reflected in Steve's eyes, misdirected and misguided as it is. 

Eventually, when the conversation becomes unavoidable, Tony adds a _friends with benefits_ clause to the contract. Steve looks crestfallen when Tony presents him with the tablet, but he signs it with a sigh. Tony doesn’t quite understand his reaction, he had thought it’s what Steve wants while he waits for Peggy to come around. It’s the only possible explanation for the new direction of their fake relationship. 

They should probably have an actual conversation, but even the thought of talking about it is more than Tony can bear, and so he resorts to using physical intimacy like a weapon. If Steve catches on to Tony’s distraction tactics, he doesn’t say anything about it. The first couple of times, he gives Tony a wry look, but he seems to be all too happy to drop the conversations too when there are much better things to do with his mouth.

They spend the entire blissful month of January exploring the new facet of their nonrelationship with enthusiasm, ambition and a lot of creativity. Which is to say, it's nearly gotten them in trouble several times when they can't keep their hands off of each other during school. 

It's as though the floodgates have been opened, and Steve is both incorrigible and insatiable. He takes every opportunity to kiss Tony. He would reel him in for a quick peck in the halls, and pull him into little niches and empty classrooms for longer presses of lips with tongue and teeth and wandering hands. Steve meets him every afternoon at his locker, and they go home together to spend quiet golden evenings in bed, loath to leave for anything at all.  

Tony cannot deny he's enjoying every second of this, relishes in the attention, and heat simmers beneath his skin with every graze and touch of Steve's fingers. He wonders if it would feel any better if this is real, and as soon as the unwelcome thought comes, he pushes it quickly away. He's determined to enjoy this as long as he has it. 

He eagerly returns all the kisses Steve presses to his lips, hands trailing enthusiastically over every inch of skin offered to him. He arches shamelessly up against Steve every time, legs falling open to make a space for him. He fits there perfectly like he fits in Tony's life and mind and heart, Tony doesn't know if he could ever do this with anyone else when it's all over. 

It's February when Tony wakes up with the cold realization that he's in love with Steve all over again. Perhaps it was unavoidable all along, ever since he wrote that damn letter last year, but the concrete certainty that explains the ache in his chest still stuns him. Especially since Steve is asleep next to him, sprawled starfish across his bed and hogging up all the blankets. 

Tony tries not to wake Steve as he sits up, but Steve's eyes flutter open anyways, blinking at him blearily before his gaze turns soft and warm. 

“Hi,” Steve greets quietly with a smile that lights up his eyes. 

“Hi, you,” Tony replies, feeling the tenderness well up high in his throat as Steve rises on his elbows to get closer so he can press a kiss to Tony's collarbone. He instinctively wraps his arms around Steve's shoulders, as though that can be enough to keep him there and sinks back into the pillows when Steve relaxes against him, draped over Tony like a heavy warm blanket. 

“Gotta go in a few,” Steve murmurs sadly as he threads his fingers through Tony's sleep mussed curls. “It's getting late.”

Tony hums noncommittally and tightens his arms around Steve, dragging his nails lightly over the expanse of bare skin beneath his hands. “Don't want you to go,” he mumbles. “Too comfy to move. You're being a bad blanket right now.”

Steve chuckles quietly, his laughter shuddering through his chest and Tony can feel it against his belly. “I need to get home before mom does,” he says. 

Tony snorts. “As if she doesn't know what you're doing spending so much time at my house,” he says, waggling his eyebrows exaggeratedly. He presses his fingers lightly against the purpled mark he left on Steve's shoulder. 

Steve huffs a sigh but there's a smile pulling up the corner of his lip and laughter dancing in his eyes. “First,” he says, in the obstinate tone that Tony's grown to love, “it's gross that we’re talking about my mom knowing anything about my sex life. Second, it doesn't mean we should confirm her suspicions.”

“I can ask Happy to drive you back later,” Tony says, trying not to sound like he's begging but he desperately wants Steve to stay. He doesn't want to be left alone with his cold realization, to have to face it by himself, and think of what it'll mean for the not too distant future. “Stay for now.”

“I don't want to trouble Happy like that,” Steve replies, frowning slightly. 

“I'll ride to Brooklyn with you,” Tony promises, a wide grin tugging at his mouth. “We can make out in the car and annoy Happy. Or you can call your mom and spend the night again. Besides,” he continues, peering up at Steve from beneath his lashes, “if you leave now you're going to miss out.”

“On what?”

Instead of replying, Tony takes one of Steve's hands and guides him down between his legs to where he's still wet and dripping with Steve from earlier. He can hear the hitch in Steve's breathing as he guides two of Steve's fingers in and arches back against the pillows with a loud moan. 

“That's playing dirty,” Steve rasps. 

“Maybe,” Tony admits, his other hand already stroking along the hard length of Steve's cock as he grinds down on his fingers. “But c’mon, honeybun, don't you want to play?”

A growl would be the only way to describe the noise that comes out of Steve as he pounces, claiming his lips with a harsh kiss. Tony arches shamelessly up to meet him in a wet desperate press of lips. Steve carefully stretches him open again as they kiss, his fingers moving in slow thrusts that brush the exact spot that has Tony seeing starbursts behind his eyes. It's ridiculous how quickly and easily Steve learned every sensitive part of his body and all the right touches to make Tony electrified with pleasure.   

Tony is gasping and desperate by the time Steve gently slides his fingers free and before Tony can feel empty for too long, he's guiding his slicked cock in, hard and thick, the girth of him stretching Tony much wider than the two fingers. There's still the remnants of lube and come in him from earlier, and even with the new slick, there's just the barest hint of burn on the first slide beneath the wide swath of pleasure. Tony relishes every dragging inch as Steve pushes in, his nerves singing like livewires dancing across his skin. They're both panting by the time Steve is rooted deep inside of him, and Tony trembles, overloaded on sensation.  

“C’mon, c’mon,” Tony begs, whimpering when Steve draws out nearly all the way before sliding back in. He's barely coherent as he's blissed out on how full he feels, reveling in the slight burn as Steve presses into him again and again. All he can feel is Steve, deep inside of him, a thick fullness that feels overwhelming because there's so _much_ of Steve stretching him wide. And in that moment, Steve belongs entirely to Tony, and all of him belongs to Steve. 

“ _Fuck_ ,” Steve breathes as he hitches Tony's legs higher, large hands spanning the curve of his ass to hold him open. Steve’s thrusts stutter as he looks down to where he's grinding into Tony, the rim of him stretched wide and pink. 

“Just look at you,” Steve pants. “It's like you were made for me. You're so beautiful. Fuck, _Tony_.”

 _Beautiful_. The word hurts like a blow and Tony wants to shake his head, he’s not he’s not. It breaks him to hear Steve say these things and it kills him to wonder if he means them. He can barely stand the breathlessness he hears in Steve's voice as he fucks into him, heart aching with the way Steve says his name. He _wants_ so very desperately, everything aches with the intensity of what he feels for Steve, wishing fervently for any truth in Steve’s words. But it’s just sex and Tony is smart enough to know that sex doesn't equate love, no matter how carefully and affectionately Steve handles him. Tony is also smart enough to know with unquestionable certainty that Steve does not love him, and likely never will, but it's nice to believe it for just a moment when Steve is inside him and whispering his name so reverently. 

Steve mouths something against his neck that Tony doesn't catch as he comes, filling him again wet and hot as his hand palms Tony’s cock, stroking him to completion. Steve stays inside him for a long time afterwards, breathing slowly against his neck. Tony curls his legs around Steve’s waist, unwilling to let him go as he draws lazy patterns on Steve's shoulder with his finger, loose looping hearts traced onto skin while his own beats a thrumming _I love you I love you I love you._

 


	9. Chapter Eight

“You know,” Tony grouches as he drops into the seat next to Steve, “we could've taken Howard's jet anywhere you desired if you wanted to go on vacation.”

“Well, why didn't you offer sooner, Stark?” Clint pipes up from the last row. 

“Didn't mean you, Barton,” Tony replies, pulling Steve's arm up to go around his shoulders and burrowing into his side as Steve chuckles. 

“We’re just chopped liver,” Bucky mutters from behind them. 

“It'll be fun, Tony,” Steve reassures him for the thousandth time. 

It's not that Tony doesn't think the senior trip will be fun, but he thinks that a vacation with just him and Steve and their own private island would be much _more_ fun. Instead, they're on a bus to the Poconos with the other seniors, headed towards a unchaperoned long weekend of debauchery, contraband alcohol and knowing some of their other classmates, lots of drugs. All under the guise of the student council taking them on a ski trip. 

“You better make it worth my while,” Tony mumbles into Steve's shoulder, snuggling down for a nap. 

Steve tilts his chin up for a kiss. His eyes are glinting with promise when he murmurs, “I definitely will.”

Tony does have to admit that the mountains are beautiful when they pull up to the lodge two hours later. They rise tall like sentinels in the distance, snow capped and dusted white from the winter storms. The resort itself is enormous, with immaculate sprawling grounds and a tall main building built almost entirely of windows and glass. 

Their school group gets one of the smaller side buildings to themselves, but it's no less luxurious with high beamed ceilings and a huge common room. There's a sprawling fireplace that dominates an entire wall crowned with a rack of antlers. The floors are piled with fur pelt rugs, armchairs and couches scattered in front of the fire to create a warm semi circle as snow drifts steadily down outside the huge picture windows. All of the guest rooms are comfortable and spacious, dressed with soft grey wools and sheepskin rugs. Tony has to admit he’s impressed as he sets his bags down in the room Steve claimed for the both of them. 

The flurries pick up speed outside, and the snow piles up higher and higher through the day. They spend the first afternoon lounging in the common room with their friends, hot cocoa in hand and board games spread out on the rug by the fire. 

Eventually, they pack away the Monopoly board after Clint accuses Bucky of cheating _again_ for the fifth time, and Sam has to sit between the two of them to keep them from going for each other's throats. After they calm down enough, because apparently Monopoly can destroy lifelong friendships, they start a game of blackjack. Tony is very good at counting cards, but Natasha somehow manages to clean house round after round until they all fold. 

Steve concedes defeat first, and getting the hint, Tony throws down his hand too, even though he has a pair of aces. He makes hasty excuses about being tired for the both of them as they scramble up to leave. He can tell their friends don't buy that for a second if the exasperated look Sam and Bucky exchange is any indication, but he couldn't care less when Steve's hand is clasped tight in his own and the promise from the bus is echoing in his head. 

Tony finds himself crowded up against the door as soon as it's shut behind them, and he returns the kiss with equal desperation, fingers reaching up to tangle in Steve's hair. Steve's strong hands are reaching under Tony's thighs to hoist him up and he instinctively wraps his legs around Steve's waist as he walks them both across the room. 

They barely manage to make it to the bed a handful of feet away before they're tearing each other's clothes off, mouths pressed together in heated kisses. They land on the covers with a soft _thump_ , Steve twisting his body to cushion Tony's fall. There's hardly a pause in the kiss as they land, Tony seating himself atop Steve's thighs while long fingers dip beneath the hem of his hoodie and deftly relieve him of his pants and underwear. 

Tony can barely breathe for the emotion clogging his chest and throat as Steve takes him apart. He doesn't think he's ever loved anyone so much, or ever will love anyone this much again. And that's the kicker, isn't it, to fall in love with someone he can't have like Steve Rogers not only once, but _twice_. 

Tony thinks maybe Steve is going to see it on his face. He feels so vulnerable and cracked open when he's in Steve's arms like this, and he has to bite hard on his tongue to keep the words from slipping out. He's never wanted anything more in his life, and trust Tony to always want the things he can't have the most. 

Then Steve is arching up to press kisses to his collarbone and chest as his hands skim the bare skin of his thighs and Tony tries not to feel anything at all but the sensation of Steve's touch. 

Tony is breathless, tingling all over by the time Steve guides a slick finger inside of him, unbearably gentle and Tony cannot stand it. He knocks Steve’s hand away after two fingers and despite the soft protests, Tony sinks down on him with fevered determination as Steve stares up at him with wide eyes. He relishes the burn as he takes Steve’s cock, the thick length burning hot like a brand inside him. 

He rides Steve hard. Every downward grind onto Steve's cock feels like a stolen moment he has to fight for, even when Steve gasps his name with awe and reverence as Tony kisses the sounds from his lips. It's not love, Tony reminds himself. It's barely even mutual like, but he can pretend it’s something more as Steve fills him liquidhot with a loud cry of his name. 

Afterwards, they fall asleep curled up together with Tony’s head pillowed on Steve’s chest as snow continues to fall outside the huge windows. 

They wake up in the late afternoon when Pepper knocks on their door to ask them to join everyone at the pool. Tony blinks the sleep from his eyes and stretches languidly, the cool cotton sheets a balm to his sleepwarmed skin. He relishes in the secret ache he finds in the dip of his spine as he arches his back, feeling sore in all the right places. He stretches his arms above his head to work out the kinks in his muscles before he sighs with satisfaction and sinks back against the pillows. Steve is awake and watching him with darkened eyes when he looks over. 

“Hey,” Tony says softly, a slow smile curving his lips as Steve moves closer, his expression set with intent. 

“Hey, you,” Steve replies, pulling him in for a kiss as his hand tightens around the crest of Tony's hip. His fingers slot perfectly along the day old bruises there, squeezing softly before his palm slides down over the curve of Tony's ass and further still to the dip of his spine. 

“You're incorrigible today,” Tony tells him. “Not that I'm complaining—” he breaks off with a gasp as Steve presses an open mouthed kiss to his neck. He nearly arches off the bed at the feeling of Steve's teeth against his pulse as his hand finds him expertly, finger stroking around his rim before pushing in. 

“I just can't get enough of you,” Steve murmurs against his skin, and they end up arriving very late to the pool party. 

“Holy shit,” Clint gasps when they approach the heated indoor pool.

“How’re you enjoying the wildlife?” Bucky asks, grinning wide as his eyes track the bruises and marks decorating Tony’s throat and chest. The lowest ones taper down beneath the band of his swim trunks, and Tony smirks as he turns, a sarcastic pirouette to show off the marks above the dip of his waist. 

Bucky wolf whistles and claps. Steve purposefully splashes him as he dives into the pool in one fluid motion and Bucky laughs unrepentantly, cackling even as the water flies into his face.

“Jealous, Barnes?” Tony teases. 

“Of you?” Bucky asks incredulously. “Nah, I would never let Stevie get close enough to me to do that. You look like you've been mauled by a wild animal.”

“Hey! Fuck you, Buck,” Steve protests laughingly as he throws another handful of water in Bucky's direction, who ducks and swims away with a cackling, “No thanks!”

Tony can't help the laughter that bubbles from his throat, loud and bright as he watches his friends horse around in the water. Pepper is sitting on Sam’s shoulders as Loki sits astride Thor, the four of them laughing as they try to wrestle each other into the water. On the other end of the pool, Clint finds a ball from somewhere and they start a round of water polo, with some of their other classmates eventually joining in. 

Tony is happy enough to watch them from the side of the pool, curled up with Natasha on a lounge chair. She's gently fingercombing his unruly hair as they sit together in comfortable silence, observing the impromptu game. 

Tony may not know the rules of the game, but he can't help the swell of pride he feels when it looks like Steve scores a point. His eyes track Steve the entire time, watching the impressive display of muscle and strength as he powers through the water, proving again and again that he, Bucky, and Clint are an indomitable team, no matter the sport they play. The guys on the opposite side don't stand a chance. They end up drawing quite the audience, and there are admiring spectators lounging by the side of the pool to watch by round two. 

Tony watches as Steve scores again, intermittently turning to look back at Tony and completely ignoring the small crowd vying for his attention. His eyes are alight with a glowing smile as he gives Tony and Nat a little wave. 

Steve is bright and golden, blinding like the sun, and everyone else fades into the background around him. Has he always looked like that, Tony wonders, or is this the rosetinted vision Jarvis told him about?

Tony's heart squeezes painfully in his chest. He blows Steve a kiss before turning back to Nat who is looking at him with open fondness. 

“You have it so bad,” Nat murmurs into his temple, where she presses a soft kiss to the curls there. 

Tony doesn't say anything for a moment. “I do, don't I?” he finally agrees. 

… 

It's probably one of the most luxurious things Tony has ever experienced to wake up in the morning with Steve in bed next to him. The sun is just starting to rise in the silver hours of morning, washing the room with cold light and painting them in shades of purple and blue. The snow glimmers outside like mounds of diamonds, beckoning ice cold but the snowfall has stopped and the day is promising to be clear with blue cloudless skies. 

Steve is already awake and sitting up with the sheets pooled around his waist, pen working slowly across the hotel pad in his hand. Tony thinks that might've been what woke him up, the soft scratch of the nib against the paper, whispering scritches that pulled him from his dreams. 

Tony instinctively rolls closer to Steve. “G’morning, love,” he murmurs, still half asleep. 

He barely realizes what he's said, but the sound of the pen stops for a brief moment before resuming. He drifts off again as he feels gentle fingers comb through his hair and there's a whispersoft kiss pressed tenderly to his forehead. He smiles and lets the susurration of pen and paper lull him back to sleep. 

Tony wakes again later that morning when Steve rouses him for breakfast. Tony groans and tries to avoid the morning kisses tickling his jaw by pulling up the covers. What’s the point of a vacation if they can’t sleep in? Steve laughs and leaves him in bed, disappearing into their adjoined bathroom. 

Tony can hear the shower running by the time he finally rolls over and blinks the bleary sleep from his eyes. He finds the notepad by the nightstand with a page detached. The note is folded in half like Steve likes to do, Tony’s name printed in neat letters on the front. 

Hatched in ballpoint is a drawing of him asleep in bed, backlit with the sunlight spilling from the windows behind. His shoulder is bared with the edge of the sheets trapped in his fist, his other hand outstretched as though reaching for Steve. His hair is a riot of curls, looping circles spread on the crosshatched pillow, with dark lashes dusting the crest of his cheeks. He looks so soft in the drawing, expression lax as he sleeps, looking for all the world like he's having the best of dreams. Tony sighs and replaces the paper on the nightstand for safekeeping as Steve walks back into the room with only a towel wrapped around his waist. 

“Good morning, sleeping beauty,” Steve says as he pads across the rug to rummage for clothes in one of the suitcases and Tony is struck by how domestic it feels. How comfortable, and _nice_. He can barely stand it. 

Tony crawls out of bed as Steve is struggling with his shirt, rising on his tiptoes to help Steve pull the hoodie down over his head. Tony laughs when he realizes it's his own sweatshirt with the big MIT logo splashed across the front but he does have to admit it looks much better on Steve, filled out with his broad shoulders and thick arms. He smooths down the collar and if his hands linger a little too long on Steve's chest, who's to say he isn't just brushing out the wrinkles? It makes his heart ache with something fierce to see Steve wearing his clothes. With one last stroke down Steve's side, he leans in for a kiss. 

Steve obliges him with a chaste peck, but pulls away to say, “go brush your teeth,” with a lopsided smile. 

Tony winces. “That bad, huh?”

“That's okay, I still love you,” Steve says, pulling him in for another kiss, and Tony freezes for a moment in his arms. 

He doesn't know if Steve realizes what he said, but the words lance through Tony like a strike of lightning. He recovers enough to laugh lightly, but the ache in his chest intensifies into burning pain. He presses down on it with his palm as he leans in towards Steve.

Tony tries his best to forget what Steve said as he steps into the shower. The jet of hot water pounding on his skin does little but echo the words over and over again until they ring hollow in his mind. He clenches his eyes shut and struggles to breathe. The water dripping down his face is salty and bitter by the time he’s finished, but the iron in his spine keeps his head up as he walks back out into the room. 

Steve, bless him, doesn’t notice the turmoil Tony feels swirling tempestuous chaos in his mind. He smiles when he sees Tony, and Tony can’t help but smile back. 

… 

Tony discovers that the only sport he might potentially be better at than Steve is skiing. He's been skiing since he was a child with his parents in Aspen and the Swiss Alps on rare family vacations, and it’s Steve's first try. 

Nevertheless, it doesn't make it any less hilarious to watch him and Bucky struggle with their skis as they wobble on shaking knees and clumsy feet, trying their best to make it halfway down the bunny slope without tipping over into the snowbanks. Bucky seems to get the hang of it quickly enough with Sam’s help but Tony is laughing too hard to be of much assistance when he watches Steve speed down the hill only to flop into the snow at the bottom. 

Tony pays dearly for his laughter when Steve kicks off his skis and tackles him into one of the snowbanks. Before Tony can react and push him away, Steve is shoving a handful of snow down the collar of his jacket. Tony gasps as the ice cold snow melts against his warm skin, feels the unpleasant trickle of melted water running down his back and soaking through three layers of thermals and sweaters. 

Steve is laughing uproariously, cheeks pinked from the cold as he leans down to kiss Tony in apology, and Tony can feel the curve of Steve’s smile pressed against his lips.

Tony lets Steve kiss him, distracting him with little nips to his bottom lip as his hand reaches behind him and curls into the soft snow. He gathers a handful of it and mashes it against Steve’s cheek just as he’s about to deepen the kiss, laughing and squirming away before Steve can properly react. 

Steve looks gobsmacked, but he regains himself quickly just as another snowball hits him on the side of his face. His head snaps to the side to see Thor grinning gleefully from a few yards away, another handful of snow at the ready. Tony watched as Steve’s look of betrayal melts into one of determination as Steve launches snow back at Thor. Everything devolves into a snowball fight after that, and soon, everyone abandons their skis to participate in all out war. 

The day ends with everyone gathered in the common room with a fire roaring in the hearth, the blaze big enough to warm the cavernous room. Snow is drifting down outside the windows again, pale moon reflected silver glimmering against the dark night sky. 

They all sprawl out on one of the bearskins by the fire and Clint leads them through a verbal horror story roleplay, a simpler version of the elaborate D&D games they play at home. It's almost midnight by the time Tony is finally killed in a broken ship floating in the nothingness of space, and the story ends. 

They all eventually nod off in pairs, heading to bed by the time the fire banks low in the hearth, and the only ones left by the fire are Tony, Steve, and Pepper. 

“I had to almost fistfight Maria because she was really insisting that grey and black were a good color theme for _prom_ ,” Pepper is saying. “Why did I ever join Student Council, Tony? This was a mistake.”

Steve is sprawled on the rug dozing with his head in Tony’s lap. “You were elected, Madam President,” Tony laughs. “You even nominated yourself,” he reminds her as he runs gentle fingers through Steve’s golden hair. Steve’s eyes are closed as he smiles and burrows deeper against Tony’s stomach.

“You should've stopped me from running,” she insists with a loud sigh, but her expression turns gentle as she looks from Steve to Tony, a little smile playing at the edge of her lips. 

“I would never stop you from anything,” Tony replies softly, reaching over to squeeze her hand. “Especially not anything that's paving the way for your world domination.”

The smile she wears grows larger, lopsided and endlessly fond. “Thanks, I think.”

Tony is about to say more and bury Pepper in an avalanche of praise when his phone shrills with Howard’s ringtone and Tony feels as though a bucket of ice has been poured over him. He’s sitting frozen as he stares blankly down at the phone in his hand, and it’s so fucking stupid that he’s such a coward when it comes to his own father, but dread washes over him at the thought of speaking to Howard. His father doesn’t usually call unless there’s something urgent, or he’s very angry, and Tony does not want to pick up. 

Steve raises his head off Tony’s lap and sits up. Tony tries his best to school his features when Steve looks at him with alarm, large hands reaching over to pull him close. The stroke of Steve’s fingers against his jaw and the press of Steve’s forehead against his is grounding, but Tony still feels out of his depth as his phone shrills and shrills in his hand. 

Tony feels ridiculous and childish. How is he going to get through life if he starts hyperventilating every time his father calls him? He rises reluctantly from next to Steve on the rug and pockets his phone again, trying to arrange his features into a calm expression of nonchalance. 

“I’m going to have to take this,” Tony tells Steve and Pepper. “You guys should go to bed.”

“But—“ Steve starts to protest but stops when Pepper puts a hand on his arm. He nods. “Okay. I’ll see you back in our room?”

Tony smiles, his mouth feeling tight as he tilting his head down to peck Steve on the lips before leaning over to kiss Pepper’s cheek. “Shouldn’t be too long,” he lies, walking out into the hall just as his phone is about to shrill its last ring. 

“Where have you fucked off to now, boy?” Howard growls as soon as Tony picks up, his words slurring together. He sounds like he’s about three drinks in; he’s only just started. 

Tony swallows. “Hello to you too, dad,” he says pitching his voice with false cheer and backing it with every ounce of bravado he can muster. “How am I, your only and most dearest favoritest son? I’m doing great, dad, thanks for asking. Haven’t seen you in nearly two months so you probably missed the memo that I’m on my senior trip. I’ll be back in two days.”

“How dare you, you little shit,” Howard snarls. “What makes you think you have the luxury to just fly off whenever you feel like it without completing your tasks?” 

Tony doesn’t retort that Howard can fuck off whenever he wants, leaving his teenage son to handle the entire SI R&D Department, but it’s a near thing. That’ll only cause more trouble, especially if Howard remembers this conversation the next time he comes home. 

Tony keeps his mouth shut as Howard begins to start his tirade on how worthless Tony is, how slow his progress, how little he’s doing for Stark Industries, what a failure he’s going to become, how poorly his prototypes are performing, he’s so disappointed, he really expected more of his heir. It’s the same spiel as always. It’s nothing new. 

Tony bites hard on his tongue to keep his words in, settling in to tune out the acerbic words even as the hand holding his phone trembles. He wanders aimlessly in the hall as Howard rants, smiling tensely at the classmates he passes. 

Eventually, he finds a sliding door to the huge wrap around deck, and the first breath of crisp fresh winter air is a balm to his overly tight heated skin. He breathes deep and slows his sigh so Howard doesn’t hear him on the other end. The deck is thankfully empty, most others unwanting to be out in the cold night as snow drifts steadily down.  

“Did you even hear any of what I fucking said?” Howard demands as he begins to wind down. Tony can hear the clink and _glug_ of liquor pouring into a glass in the background. Drink number four probably. 

“Yes,” Tony says behind clenched teeth. “I heard you.” As though his words don’t echo in Tony’s head every day and haunt him every night when he’s feeling his lowest and can’t will sleep to come fast enough. 

“I expect these distractions to cease once the weekend is over,” Howard says, his voice deadly low. There’s the clink of glass and pour of drink again. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re up to, boy. This so-called relationship of yours? I know all about it, seen your shameless parade on social media. There’s only so much I’ll tolerate. Make sure these distractions don’t get in the way, or I’ll remove them for you.” 

It takes Tony a minute to stop shaking when Howard finally hangs up and his phone dangles limply in the lax grip of his hand as he stares unseeing up at the sickle moon. He’s surprised Howard hasn’t bothered to say anything about Steve for so long, but his words are clear as day. _Don’t think I don’t know what you’re up to, boy._ He’s under no delusion that Howard doesn’t know and see everything, and the only reason Tony got to spend so much time with Steve is because Howard allowed it to be so. 

Tony’s borrowed time is almost up. Even if the farce isn’t ended by Steve, Howard will make sure it’s over soon. He can’t afford to have Tony so constantly distracted, not when SI’s future is on the line and Tony is leaving for MIT in a few short months. Even Howard concedes he won’t have as much time for company work with college courses and bigger projects. After all, he expects Tony to get several degrees in the next couple of years. 

Tony sighs, already feeling overwhelmed by everything bearing down on him all at once. Good things only last so long for him, and even having a couple of days for a weekend to spend with friends has been a luxury. It’s back to work as soon as they get back to New York the next afternoon and Tony expects he’ll be spending every spare hour in the lab from now until graduation. 

He supposes it’s all good and convenient. This way, Steve will have more time to spend with Peggy without Tony hanging around him like a desperate puppy begging for scraps. He’s certain his presence is keeping Peggy at arms length, and he frowns, just wondering now why Steve hasn’t made more of an effort to win her back. Tony hasn’t pushed it because he’s been selfishly enjoying Steve’s attention, but what’s Steve’s excuse?

Tony is so absorbed in his own thoughts he doesn’t hear the sliding doors open until it’s too late. There’s a soft “oh!” behind him and he turns to see none other than Peggy Carter standing on the deck with him. Speak of the devil, he thinks bitterly.  

“I’m sorry,” she says gently. “I didn’t realize there was anyone else out here.”

“It’s fine,” Tony says flatly. He’s about to leave anyways. 

As he’s about to brush past Peggy to the door, she touches his arm and he stops in his tracks. Her hand falls away as she looks at him. She’s not wearing her usual red lipstick, Tony notices. 

“Are you alright?” she asks, her brow furrowed with concern. 

“I’m fine,” he repeats, plastering a press smile on his lips as he shoves his phone into his back pocket. “Peachy, honky dory, and just swell.”

Peggy sighs softly. “I know a thing or two about demanding parents,” she says, smiling ruefully, not pretending she didn’t hear at least the tail end of his conversation with Howard. “I was originally from London,” she continues. “My mum is very firm about our grades regardless of how many times we moved.”

Tony raises a brow. He’s starting to shiver from the cold. Unlike Peggy, he’s not wearing a coat out in the winter night. 

“Military family,” Peggy says simply. “Something we have in common.”

Tony nods dutifully but he can’t help thinking they’re not, not really. Starks are simply war mongers who sell to the highest bidder, bottom feeders with no honor and even less scruples. They’re not a military family. He feels like a fraud again, an imposter in all things. 

The sentiment is nice, he supposes, but Peggy doesn’t even know the half of it with Howard. She has no idea how far his demands stretch and how far his hold reaches, claws sunk deep beneath his skin from day one and he’ll never be free. She might know a thing or two about tough parents, but Howard is a whole other animal.

He doesn’t say any of this. He can’t bring himself to tell even Steve the full extent of his relationship with his father and even his dearest friends know only the surface story, but he warms a little at the genuine sincerity he finds in Peggy. There is authentic empathy there and quiet strength. This must be why Steve loves her, he thinks, and doesn’t feel entirely bitter about that thought for once. 

“Yeah,” Tony finally concedes, laughing a little, the sound mirthless. “Tough parents, huh.”

They make small talk for a bit about midterms, SAT scores, and college, pointedly swerving around the topic of Steve. Peggy is talking about her anticipation for her Oxford admissions letter when the cold finally gets to be too much for Tony and he feels like he’s about to shiver out of his skin. The snow is coming down in heavier drifts, white cotton flakes obscuring the light of the moon. Peggy, who is good and kind offers him the shawl wrapped around her shoulders. Tony declines, thinking Steve is probably wondering where he’s gone by now. 

“Shouldn’t you go back inside too?” Tony asks as he reaches for the handle of the sliding door. 

Peggy hums quietly and opens her hand to show him the pack of cigarettes between her fingers. “Bad habit,” she says. “I’ll be along in a bit. It was good talking to you, Tony.”

Tony pauses with one foot in the door to look back at her silhouetted against the snow and dim moonlight. Her dark hair is a stark contrast to the white of the landscape, black shawl wrapped tight around her shoulders and fluttering in the light wind. The plume of smoke from her lips makes her look ethereal, a wraith in the winter night. She really is very beautiful, he thinks, especially when she smiles so softly. 

This is where Tony knows he's supposed to tell Peggy how much Steve misses her, and how perfect she is for him, and Steve is doing all of this for her, but the words get lodged in his throat and refuse to come out. He can feel them rising like vomit from the back of his throat even as his feet carry him through the door and away down the hall. The words taste like bitter bile when he forcibly swallows them back down again. 

Besides, how does he dare to say something like that to her when he feels like an absolute hypocrite? He’s the one trying to give Steve everything, if only to have him for another day, for another handful of hours, for as long as Steve will keep him. He’s the one bending over, literally and figuratively to keep Steve away from Peggy. He can feel the shame of it all clogging his throat, and he has no right to even be in Peggy’s presence like this, not when he still aches with how Steve felt inside him this morning and aches to have him again.  

He feels like an imposter as he walks back to their room and crawls into bed next to Steve, who is already hazy half asleep. Nevertheless, strong arms reach over to pull Tony snug against a broad chest, and Tony selfishly smoothes his palm over every inch of skin he can reach, claiming and wanting. 

Steve winces away from Tony’s ice cold fingers and wraps them between his own sleep warm hands. He pulls them forward to press soft kisses against the knuckles. 

“Hey, are you okay?” he asks quietly.

“Never better,” Tony lies, reaching for Steve. He reels him in for a kiss to stop any more forthcoming questions. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Steve asks when they break for air. 

Tony shakes his head adamantly. “When we get home,” he says, and he thinks he means it this time. This has gone on for long enough, and he doesn’t know if he can keep doing this when it’s all a farce. He needs to know what Steve decides, one way or another, and he thinks maybe he’s had more than his share of borrowed time already. 

Of course this is when Steve will tell him it’s been fun but it’s time he actually wins back Peggy for real now. And Tony will be left broken by the wayside. 

That thought doesn’t stop him from pulling Steve close though, and wrapping his arms around Steve’s broad shoulders as Steve nods and leans down for another kiss. It certainly doesn’t stop him from helping Steve tug his clothes off and draw him close until they’re pressed skin to skin. It doesn’t stop him from breathlessly crying out Steve’s name as Steve busses tender kisses down his body, from neck to ribs to navel and finally to take Tony in his mouth. 

If this is going to be his last time with Steve, Tony sure as hell is going to enjoy it. He certainly doesn’t have the strength to untangle himself from Steve’s arms to even begin unraveling himself from this mess. _Stark men are made of iron_ , but Tony simply is not strong enough. Especially not when it comes to Steve. 

… 

It takes Tony nearly a week to work up the nerve to try to talk to Steve. When Steve gets worried about his nervous frenetic energy, Tony hastily blames it on Howard and locks himself in the labs, doing breathing exercises with his hand pushing against his chest, once again berating himself for his weakness. 

It’s the Friday after their senior trip when Tony finally makes up his mind. He’s all jitters and bouncing leg throughout the day, and Steve writes him sweet little notes filled with tentative worry. Even Bucky sneaks him looks of concern from the side of his eye during lunch, but Tony’s mind is made up. 

Today will be the day. _Stark men are made of iron._  

Today will be the day Tony finally works up the nerve to tell Steve this can’t go on for much longer. They either make this fake relationship real, or Steve puts Tony out of his misery and goes back to Peggy. He nods as he packs up for the day. He slams his locker shut with a decisive _bang_ and sets off to find Steve. 

Tony turns the corner to see Steve and Peggy standing in front of Steve's locker. Steve's arms are around her as she tilts her head up, and Tony watches with cold frozen veins as she stands on her tiptoes to press a kiss against the corner of Steve's mouth. He watches as Steve sighs and pulls her close, burying his face in the crook of her shoulder. 

Tony feels his heart splintering and everything is suffocating as it falls apart around him. He had thought he would be strong enough to do this and finally relinquish his false hold on Steve, but seeing it happen before his very eyes, seeing Steve make his clear choice—it hurts like nothing else has ever hurt before. 

He doesn't even realize the animal sound that echoes in the hall had come from his throat until Steve and Peggy turn their heads and their eyes land on him standing at the end of the corridor. Peggy immediately steps away from Steve and murmurs something to him Tony can’t hear, but her eyes are wide. 

Even from the distance, Tony sees the moment when Steve's eyes widen too in realization, but he doesn't see any more after that because he pivots on autopilot and all but flies down the hall, needing desperately to escape. 

“Tony!” Steve cries out after him, but Tony ignores him, walking faster. He bursts out of the school doors and all but runs towards where Happy is parked, desperate for a quick escape. Happy is waving cheerfully at him before he sees the expression on Tony’s face, and he immediately switches to protective mode, moving around the car to get the door open. 

Steve catches his wrist as Tony gets to the corner of the block, his strong grip pulling Tony to a stop. “Please just let me explain. It’s not whatever it was you think you saw.”

“Hey now,” Happy says quietly in warning, stepping between them to lay a firm hand on Steve’s shoulder. Tony shudders, twisting his wrist in Steve’s grip, but the hold is strong. 

“Please, Happy,” Steve says, an edge of desperation in his voice. “I just need to talk to Tony.”

Happy looks between them for a long moment before asking, “You gonna be alright, boss?”

Tony breathes through his nose and nods tersely, making up his mind. “I’ll just be a moment, Happy. Thank you.”

Happy frowns but moves away to walk over to the driver’s side of the car. “I’m right here, Tony, if you need me.”

Tony can feel the way Steve is staring down at him with the wild look of desperation in his eyes, panic tensing the grip of his fingers. Tony turns slightly. He doesn’t want to look at him. He doesn’t want to see Steve’s expression, or hear whatever excuse he wants to say.

It’s over. Their nonrelationship. Their agreement. Their charade. Whatever. 

There’s no reason for Tony to feel any way about seeing Steve with Peggy, and it’s certainly not his place to be upset or angry. He definitely has no right to feel as though he’s been kicked in the chest, his heart shattered from the force of the blow.

This was what they were working towards, wasn’t it? This is the end goal, and Steve is finally getting what he really wants. This is Steve’s choice, and it would have been the same even if Tony presented him with the option of a real relationship. Tony has always known this was coming, and he was still _stupid_ enough to get so deep. He has no one to blame but himself; this is all his own fault.

It was only a matter of time anyways, and this end is as good as any. Howard is constantly breathing down his neck, and it’s not worth his father’s ire for a relationship that isn’t even real. This is the only foregone conclusion he and Steve could’ve ever had. It’s _fine_. 

“Tony,” Steve begins again, plaintive and begging. 

Tony steels himself, wrapping his heart in every layer of armor forged from Howard, from his mother, from everything he’s ever known. He pastes on his best press smile and straightens his spine. He’s going to make this easier for the both of them, a parting gift. He will not fall apart in front of Steve. 

He makes sure his tone is empty when he says, “no need, Rogers. It was part of the contract. You got what you wanted, so this agreement,” he waves his free hand between them, “this transaction is over. Payment rendered on both sides, everyone is happy. You get Peggy back and I get my friends back, just like we agreed.”

“Tony, just—” 

“No,” Tony says sharply, all the strength he’s tried to gather slipping from his grip. There’s only so much he can take when Steve says his name like that. His wrist burns where Steve still has his fingers wrapped around it. “This went way too far and got out of hand because we were both trying to scratch an itch. What, did you really think I still feel the same way I did when I wrote that stupid letter?”

Steve drops his wrist as though he’s been shocked by lightning and he looks like _Tony_ was the one who kicked him in the chest. “You don’t mean that,” he tries. 

“Yes I fucking do,” Tony snarls. He steels himself for the killing blow. “It was nice being fuck buddies with you, but it never meant anything.” 

That shuts Steve up. He watches silently, no longer trying to explain whatever it was he was trying to explain as Tony reaches into his bag and pulls out the tablet they had signed their contract on. Tony tosses it at Steve, who fumbles the catch and they both watch silently as the tablet falls onto the slush covered concrete. The screen cracks, and isn't that a pretty analogy, Tony thinks. 

“There,” Tony snarls. “Contract terminated.”

He doesn't wait for Steve to say anything else, shoving past him to get into the car and slams the door shut. 

“Happy, please drive,” Tony croaks around the boulder stuck in his throat. 

“You got it, boss,” Happy says quietly as he pulls away from the curb and Tony refuses to watch Steve shrink into the distance from his windows. He looks steadfastly forward and tries not to think about anything at all. 

At home, he digs up the box he keeps full of Steve’s notes, printed photographs, ticket stubs and restaurant business cards from their fake dates. Sentimental paraphernalia Tony was too soft to ever throw out. He contemplates burning the whole thing now but something stops him. He can’t bear to do it. The first note Steve ever wrote him is near the top of the pile, a simple “I hope you’ll have a nice day today,” with a couple of heart doodles. Just seeing that scrap of paper has Tony shaking all over again. He can’t bring himself to destroy the box, but there’s enough rage in him to throw it across the room. 

Flurries of paper flutter down around Tony, giant assorted snowflakes. The scrap that lands nearest him is a copy of the school newspaper with him and Steve on the front page and Tony picks it up, holding it listlessly between numb fingers. It's the single piece of publication with him in it he's ever kept, simply because he and Steve had looked so happy in that photo. It was the night they won the state championship and they're standing front and center in the photo with the team surrounding them. Steve's face is turned away from the camera, his features cast in sharp profile as he kisses a smiling Tony's cheek. 

“Get my best side,” Steve had said to Peter as he raised his camera. 

“You don't have any bad sides,” Tony had retorted affectionately with a derisive snort. 

“But _you_ are my best side,” Steve had said nonsensically, pulling him close for a kiss. Tony couldn't help groaning at the time, despite how warm his heart had felt on that cold winter night after hearing those words. 

Peter had laughed as he took their photo, even as Tony griped, “wow, that was lame, Rogers,” because that was the best comeback he could manage at the time, secretly loving the dumb clichés Steve liked to use. They had smiled goofily at one another and there was warmth swelling in Tony’s chest until he thought he was going to burst with the affection he had felt for Steve in that moment. He had barely managed to turn back in time for Peter to catch his smile for the camera as Steve nosed a kiss against his jaw. 

That night feels like a lifetime ago, and Tony feels numb now as he rips the newsprint to shreds. It doesn’t make him feel any better for having destroyed it. Tony rubs his hand over his chest and he can feel the emptiness echoing as though everything's been torn out of him and all he has left is the familiar agony of heartbreak.


	10. Chapter Nine

Jarvis finds Tony sitting listlessly in the kitchen the next morning. He takes one look at him and puts the kettle on for tea. Tony knows Jarvis must feel especially bad for him when he brings down the tin of leftover Christmas cookies he'd been hiding and sets them on a plate.

Jarvis sits next to him and doesn't say anything for a long time. Tony is grateful for the silence. He thinks if he opens his mouth to say anything, he might start sobbing and never stop. He doesn't know if he's ever hurt so much before. The pain is excruciating and firebright in his chest and nothing will alleviate it. 

It's all his own damn fault for being so stupid and it's frankly pathetic that so much of his life has revolved around Steve. He's been in love with Steve twice, and an old adage comes to mind. _Fool me once_ , _shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me_. 

The first time, it was childish puppy love, an innocent little trifle. But this time, this was—is real. Tony is stupidly, deliriously in love with Steve. This is something that marks his soul, carves itself bone deep inside of him, and twines around his heart entrenched deep in the cavity of his chest and becomes a part of him. He doesn't know if he will ever recover from this, not when he feels so shattered and broken. 

Tony startles and nearly knocks over his tea when Jarvis reaches over to pat his hand. In that instant, he feels so small, like he's a child with a scrape on his knee again, coming to Jarvis for a bandaid and comfort. He had known with such conviction when he was little that Jarvis could protect him from anything, fix anything, and he wishes fervently Jarvis could fix his broken heart now too. 

“It's stupid,” Tony finally says, unable to stand the silence anymore. “All of it was stupid.”

“Love is never stupid,” Jarvis says gently. “It can make us do foolish things, but love itself is never stupid.”

Tony sighs, taking a sip of his tea. It's too hot and it burns his tongue, but he welcomes the pain. He relishes the sting that distracts him from the bigger ache that claws at his chest. 

“This one is stupid,” Tony replies. “And trust me to find the only stupid one.”

“Anthony….” Jarvis begins. 

“It's okay, J,” Tony says. “It's nothing I shouldn't have seen coming. I knew all along that this would happen, and yet I was still stupid enough to let it go so far. Especially when I _knew_ how it was going to end.”

“That cannot be true,” Jarvis says, and Tony appreciates it, he really does, but try as Jarvis will to reassure him, he knows how everything was wrong from the start and nothing was ever going to end well. 

Nothing was ever real _._ The only real part of any of it was Tony's foolishness and hubris, thinking it was ever a good idea to play Russian roulette with his heart. He rubs at his chest and sighs. 

“It wasn't real, Jarvis,” Tony says, wincing at the empty timbre of his tone. “Steve and I were never dating to begin with, it was all fake.”

Jarvis pauses. “What do you mean?”

“It felt real at the end,” Tony says, “I really thought it was, but I was an idiot, and I only saw what I wanted to see. I wanted so badly for Steve to care about me, I managed to delude myself into believing it for a little while.” He laughs bitterly. “They've been calling me smart my whole life. Prodigy, genius, futurist. But they're all wrong. I'm not sure what's worse: getting into the situation in the first place, or actually thinking Steve liked me. I was an idiot to ever get myself into this mess, J.”

Jarvis takes a sip of his tea and sighs. “You're going to have to explain, Anthony. I'm not quite understanding what you mean.”

Tony takes a shaky breath. “Steve and I made up the relationship,” he confesses, the words feeling like thorns stuck in the side of throat, and it's all he can do to get them out. “We pretended to be dating to make his ex-girlfriend jealous. So she'll take him back.”

“And this ex-girlfriend took Steven back?”

“Yeah,” Tony says, swallowing the burning sensation in his mouth. He will not cry about this. _Stark men are made of iron._ “She took him back.”

“You are sure about this?”

Tony laughs bitterly and it's an ugly sound. “Yeah, J. I saw them kissing in the hallway.”

Jarvis makes a contemplative noise. “And you do not believe that Steve had genuine affection for you, Anthony?”

Tony shakes his head and he presses his fingers against his mouth until his lips stop trembling. “He doesn't, J. He probably never did. I was just a means to an end, and I have no right to be upset about this. I agreed to it. _I_ asked him to do this. I knew what the end result would be, but I didn't know—” he rubs absently at his chest. “I didn't know how _painful_ the result would be. I was stupid to get so invested.”

“I think you're wrong,” Jarvis says mildly. “I am entirely of the belief that Steve has great affection for you. I'm most certain he loves you.”

Tony laughs again, the sound even uglier this time. “I know you're trying to make me feel better, but it's not really working. No one really loves me, J. I've accepted that.”

Jarvis sucks in a harsh breath as though Tony has said something that hurts him. “I beg to differ, Anthony. It is frankly insulting that you think so. Your friends love you a great deal. Your mother loved you. Ana loves you. And of course, I love you, my dear boy. I love you very much, we all do, and I want nothing but the very best for you.”

“Jarvis….” by this point, the tears are free flowing, and Tony swipes harshly at his cheeks, trying to scrub the tears away. 

“None of that now,” Jarvis says softly as he stands to wrap his arms around Tony. “I know it hurts, and if I can take that pain away from you, I would. But please believe me when I say I think Steven loves you too.”

“Why do you insist on that, J?” Tony sobs. “I've almost accepted that he doesn't.”

“Oh darling boy,” Jarvis says thickly as he wipes the tears from Tony's face with his fingertips. “I'm not a fool, nor am I blind. I've seen the notes Steven wrote for you and I've seen the drawings he made of you. Yes, they are of you. And no one who is not in love with their muse will ever draw them so beautifully. There is affection in every stroke of his pencil, and it is plain as day for anyone who sees them.”

Tony trembles and shakes in Jarvis's arms. He has it wrong. He has it all wrong. They're just silly drawings, meaningless and certainly not evidence that Steve ever gave a shit about him. 

“And you deserve the world,” Jarvis continues. “You deserve someone who loves you that much, someone who thinks you're the center of the universe and accepts all of you. Someone who thinks you're the most beautiful being in the world, someone who will fight for you. I was very much hoping you would find this love when I saw you with Steven.”

Tony can’t find any words left in himself to reply. He can only hold onto Jarvis harder as he sobs. 

… 

“You can say it,” Tony says listlessly as he stares up at the ceiling after telling Natasha everything about his fake relationship with Steve, from the letters to the thought of hurting Pepper and Rhodey to the fake relationship agreement with the hopes of winning Peggy back. And the irrational pain of their stupid plan succeeding. It feels slightly easier to tell his friends now that he’s told Jarvis, but all of it still hurts. “I’m an idiot.”

Nat walks over to sit next to him on his bed, her small hand a comforting weight on his chest. “You’re not an idiot,” she says gently. 

Tony laughs, the sound ugly and wet. “You don’t have to be nice to me just because I’m sad.”

From the corner of his eye, he can see Natasha frowning. “I’m not nice to you just because you’re sad.”

Tony sighs, dropping his hand on top of hers. His heartbeat beneath both their palms is sluggishly slow despite how fast the thoughts are whirling in his head. “Thanks for coming, but you don’t have to worry about me. I’m not sick or dying or anything. I’ll get over this.”

Natasha hums quietly to herself. “Maybe,” she says. “But you don’t have to do it alone. We’re all here for you.”

Tony pulls her hand up to press a kiss to her knuckles. “Thanks, Nat. Have you seen the tweets about us? Some of them are even kind of funny, like Steve dumping me because of some dark family secret, but imagine if they knew the truth—”

“Tony,” Nat sighs. “You have to stop torturing yourself like this. It’s not healthy for you to look at any of that nonsense.”

“Nothing I do is healthy for me,” Tony mumbles to himself. “And certainly not getting into this mess with Steve,” he sighs. “Whoever sent out those fucking letters can go to hell. That’s what started this whole thing.”

Natasha’s hand tenses against his for a second before she pulls it back. She’s silent for a long moment. “What if,” she says slowly, quietly, as though the words are being dragged from her, “I told you I know who sent them.”

Tony immediately sits up. “Who—” He stops when he sees Natasha’s expression, her beautiful face twisted with guilt and remorse. “Tasha—” he tries, his voice sticking in his throat as the realization overwhelms him. “Please, _no_.”

“I’m so sorry, Tony,” she says quietly, her voice thick with emotion. Tony isn’t sure what’s worse, this confession or seeing his beautiful stoic Natasha break down like this in front of him. “I’m so, so, so sorry. It was never meant to hurt you. All I've ever wanted was for you to be happy, and for you to stop being sad all the time. I couldn’t stand to see you always hurting and so lonely, so when I saw those letters when we were cleaning your room, I somehow thought it would be a good idea.”

Tony's whole world grinds to a screeching halt, and the shock hits him so hard, he nearly falls over. His knees are weak and his legs are unsteady, he thinks he might throw up. 

All these months, wondering who sent out the letters, wondering if it was his own stupid fault for misplacing them, wondering if the press dug through his trash again, berating himself for probably donating them by accident, wondering if it was all a cruel joke. All these months, and it was Natasha, of all people who had done this to him. 

Never in a million years would Tony have ever thought Natasha would break his trust like this, to _betray_ him, one of his best friends and closest confidants. Someone he trusts with his secrets and some of the darkest parts of himself. Someone who’s seen everything that happened with Steve. 

Tony's world all but shatters and the bile rises in his throat alongside the animal anguished cry that bubbles loud and piercing. He barely realizes the sounds are escaping his mouth until the static roar in his ears dissipate slightly and he can hear Natasha again and he feels her thin arms around his shoulders as she holds him. 

“I’m so sorry,” she repeats in a mantra, her voice clouded with tears. “I’m so, so sorry.”

Tony doesn’t try to push her arms off of him even though their points of contact burn like acid. He can only rock back and forth as he cries and distantly, he hears Natasha’s soft sniffles and sobs too, her litany of apologies. He cries until the tears dry up and his eyes are swollen and his nose is stuffed and his head feels like it’s about to split open, but that still pales in comparison to the compounded pain in his chest. He sits still for a long time as Natasha clutches him until he can’t stand it anymore. 

“Does Loki know?” he finally manages to ask. 

“No,” she says. “He doesn’t know anything anything about this aside from the letter he got. He had nothing to do with sending them.”

That doesn’t make Tony feel any better or worse. All of the rage and sadness empties out of him in a rush as his stomach sinks to his knees with the quiet settling of everything. He just feels numb. 

“Nat,” Tony says, proud of how calm his voice sounds. “I-I think. I—” He swallows thickly and wipes at his face, his palm coming away wet again. He gently untangles her arms from his shoulders. “I can't do this.”

He flees, scrambling from his bed to get away from Natasha and runs for his lab. That's all he's ever good at. Running. _Stark men are made of iron_ , but not him. He doesn't have the courage or the strength or the capacity to deal with his pain. 

First, he ran from Steve. Now he runs from Natasha. 

He runs for six days. For six days, Tony feels sick to his stomach thinking of what Natasha did. His whole body is left feeling cold with betrayal but his chest is redfire agony, and it's more pain than he's ever known. 

On the first day, he can barely get out of bed. He wakes up with his face wet with tears after a handful of hours of fitful sleep and wishes he didn’t have to go to school. He stubbornly drags himself to class, ignores every single one of Steve's attempts to talk to him and pointedly walks in the opposite direction when Clint and Bucky try to get his attention. His phone blows up with missed calls and messages. He ignores every single one of them. He blocks Natasha’s phone number. 

On the second day, he does the same thing all over again, spending his breaks and lunchtime locked in the labs, begs his lab partners not to let anyone in, especially not Steve. The only person he's willing to talk to is Pepper, and he's so grateful to have her, he doesn't deserve her. She brings him food and coffee and makes sure Thor and Sam doesn't get any ideas about accosting him with futile pleas to talk to Steve.

He’s grateful to Loki and Pepper for keeping the football team away. He sees Loki bodily shoving Thor away in the halls and he gives Loki a weak smile as he hurries past, Happy on speed dial. It’s only fourth period but he can’t do it, he can’t make it through the day, he has to go home. He turns off his phone.

On the third and fourth days, he skips school, uncaring of the rumors and things he knows are being said about him. He walks through his house like a specter, barely lucid enough to form coherent thoughts. He's listless and empty and everything hurts. From all of the times his heart has been broken and remade shard by shard, he doesn't remember it ever feeling like this. 

He locks himself in his basement lab for lengthy hours at a time so Jarvis would have gone home before he goes back upstairs. He can't find it in himself to talk to even Jarvis at the moment, everything overwhelming and painful. He knows Jarvis means well, but it's hard to stomach the idea of anyone, even Jarvis pitying him. Everything still feels too raw and sharp and he just wants to be alone. 

On the fifth day, he skype calls Rhodey and tells him everything. Rhodey is the only one he can stomach talking to, because Rhodey isn’t physically there. Tony can hold himself together a little better when he’s only staring at a screen and a lagging image of his best friend. He can pretend he’s just telling an interesting anecdote and distance himself from the pain for a few minutes. 

Rhodey listens sympathetically and doesn't say anything as he tells him about the letters, the plan to get Peggy back, the fake relationship, how much it hurts to actually lose Steve. Tony had expected sympathetic anger maybe. He remembers the shovel talk and thought Rhodey would jump at the chance to punch Steve in his perfect teeth, but instead he sighs and gives Tony an unreadable look when he winds down from his explanation. 

“I think you should talk to him, Tones,” Rhodey says after a beat of silence. 

“Why the fuck should I do that?” Tony snarls, irrational anger flaring red poker hot in his chest. 

“The guy I met—there was no way he was pretending,” Rhodey says, and Tony wishes he never called. “No one is that good of an actor. No, hear me out, Tones! I know it's hard for you to trust that people genuinely care about you, and if I could punch Howard in the face, I would. But believe me, I would bet everything I own that Rogers wasn't faking it. Not the way you think. No one looks at someone the way he did to you if he wasn't ridiculously in love with you.”

Tony sighs, deflating and feeling lost all over again. He had wanted someone to be blindly anger on his behalf, but Rhodey, ever the voice of reason, had never been that person. It's more than he can bear at the moment. 

“You’ve been watching too many romcoms, sugar bear.”

“Tony, just think about it. Maybe give the guy a chance.”

A chance to what? Break his heart all over again?

“I gotta go, Rhodey. I'll call you next week.”

“Wait, Tones—”

On the sixth day, Saturday, he spends a day in his lab, barely able to eat, and drowns himself in work. He’s fine until he isn’t. It’s a wire that finally tips him over the edge. A red wire that would not cooperate with him, and the rage boils over from one second to the next. He hurls the motor he spent hours working on across the room, relishing in the way it breaks against the concrete floor. 

After that, he finds some semblance of peace in taking apart every failed project Howard gave him grief on. He smashes three prototypes and rips four printed schematics. He spends two hours tearing apart the bot he's halfway finished building and later realizing what he's done, he breaks down amidst the parts and sobs. 

He thinks about his mother’s letters and what she once told him. 

“ _One day, someone will love you this much too_.”

He thinks about Steve's drawings and notes. He thinks about what Jarvis said. He thinks about what Natasha has done. He only cries harder. 

Pepper finds him there later that night and holds him close as he shakes with tears, smoothing gentle hands down the bowed curve of his back.

On the seventh day, he goes upstairs for breakfast and finds Jarvis in the pantry. Tony pulls him into a hug as tears drip from his eyes, and Jarvis shakes as he holds him close. Tony's heart is feeling the slightest bit better. He can feel the cracks keloiding closed, cell by cell, sinuous fiber armoring the weakest parts of him, and he begins to forgive. Later that day, he calls Natasha. 

…

Steve is at the door again. Tony tells Jarvis to send him away. Jarvis tells him Steve sat on the stoop for four hours this time. Tony tells him he doesn't care. 

“He left you a note,” Jarvis says. 

Tony hesitates. “I don’t want it,” he finally replies as he leaves to go downstairs. 

They do this little dance for a whole month, wherein Tony does his best to avoid any instances where he might see Steve at school, ducking into empty corridors and classrooms just to avoid him in the halls. He refuses to talk to anyone on the team, and spends every spare second in the labs. He tries his best not to throw up whenever he sees any flash of red. Jarvis tells him there’s a new note in the mailbox every day, and Tony refuses to look at any of them. 

Tony tells himself this is fine, everything _will_ be fine. It may still hurt now, the wound still sluggishly bleeding, but he's never been so good at anything than healing his own stupidly fragile heart. He'll simply lance out the poison and excise the necrotic tissue, leave it behind like Steve had so carelessly left him, and he will be _fine._

Just when Tony thinks maybe it's beginning to hurt a little less, it happens. 

Oh, _fuck_ no.

That’s Steve standing in the entry to his lab calling his name, and Tony is sorely tempted to throw his soldering iron across the room. He does not want to be in the same room as Steve, not now, not when everything still hurts so much, not when he’s still licking his wounds trying to pick up the scattered pieces of himself, and maybe not ever. 

“Tony, we need to talk,” Steve says, and Tony can hear the pleading desperation in his voice, but he has no interest in anything Steve Rogers has to say. 

“No we don't,” Tony replies. “How the hell did you get in here?”

Steve hesitates. “I begged and begged and—please don’t be mad at him—”

“Jesus fucking—” Tony really has to talk to Jarvis about being so soft hearted and letting just anyone into his lab like this, it's not safe, it's a breach of security. He’s changing all of his locks and codes and passwords, but first he needs to get out of here. Preferably before he throws up and has another breakdown. “There's nothing to talk about.”

“Whatever you think you saw,” Steve tries, “was not what you think it was.”

Tony scoffs, wanting nothing more than to get away. He gets up and tries to push past Steve to get out of the lab but Steve is blocking the door and he is not budging. “I don't fucking care, Rogers. It's none of my business. Now get out of my way.”

“No,” Steve says, agitation rising in his voice. “I shouldn’t have let you walk away that day. I shouldn’t have given up so easily. I should’ve tried harder. I should’ve—I'm not getting out of the way until you hear me out because it _is_ your business and this is about _us_.”

“There is no _us,_ never was. _Move_.”

He makes to shove past Steve again but his stupid giant shoulders are filling up the entire doorway. Steve wraps his hands around Tony's arms as though to stop him and Tony jerks out of his grip. 

“Don't fucking touch me!”

Steve immediately drops his hands as though burned, and he looks as if Tony just slapped him, his eyes wide and pained. But he still doesn't budge. 

“ _Move_ ,” Tony repeats. 

Steve sucks in a deep shaky breath. “Tony, please. Just—” he shakes his head and rubs a hand across his face. He looks exhausted, if the dark circles under his eyes are anything to go by, not that Tony cares one bit. “If you don't want an us when I'm done with saying whatever it is I need to tell you, then I'll understand and I'll never bother you again. But please, just hear me out.”

“It seems like I have no choice, do I?” Tony snarls, crossing his arms. “You're standing in front of the only exit.” He makes a mental note to add more fucking doors to his fucking lab, he needs to be able to escape in emergencies. 

Steve raises his hands, palms up. “Just two minutes, that's all.”

“So speak, Rogers. I don't have all day.”

Steve nods as though gathering himself. “What you saw in the hallway—with Peggy, that was not anything, I swear.”

“That was what you wanted,” Tony points out. “That was the contract. You don't have to explain anything to me because I fucking get it, so if that's all you want to talk about, we’re just repeating ourselves over and over again—”

“Tony, _please_ ,” Steve interrupts. “You're really not getting it at all. That day, that was just a friendly conversation.” He ignores Tony's snort of derision and continues, “Peggy was telling me how glad she is that I look so happy. I swear, that was it. She told me she was glad I found someone who is able to make me smile all the time, and she was happy for me—for _us._ That kiss, what you thought you saw, that was a goodbye kiss _on the cheek_. That was Peggy promising to keep her distance because she sees how uncomfortable her presence makes you.”

“Untrue,” Tony mutters. “She does not make me uncomfortable.” There’s the familiar swell of guilt rising in him. How can Peggy be so lovely and selfless when Tony’s been nothing but shitty and selfish towards her?

“My point is, she understands, Tony,” Steve says. “She's happy for us. She sees that you make me smile and walk around like a fucking moron with my head in the clouds all the time, because all I can think about is you. She sees that you make me happy because I fucking lo—I _like_ you, Tony.”

“You don't mean that,” Tony says after a moment of stunned silence as he tries to process Steve's words, wrapping his arms around himself. 

“I've always meant it,” Steve says earnestly. “I've always liked you, Tony.”

“So then why did you let me believe it was fake?” Tony demands. “Why did you let me think it was only to make Peggy jealous?”

“I thought that was all I could have!” Steve says, his voice rising. “I've liked you for almost four years and I thought if this was all I could get, I would take it. I told myself I was going to be okay with whatever you were willing to give me. I thought it would be enough. And I thought I could just help you with whatever you needed and deal with my own side of things without pushing you. Because anything was better than the radio silence we had between us for the last few years! I was literally willing to have any little scrap of attention from you, and—look, I was a fucking idiot, okay? I thought maybe if I gave it enough time and tried my best, you might like me back—”

“ _What_?!”

“And the Peggy thing was all you,” Steve continues, barreling on. “I never once said I even wanted to get back together with her. I haven't felt that way about her in a long time, our relationship was over. We always made much better friends than we ever did as anything else and in the back of my mind, there was always you anyways, and no one could ever match up to you.” Steve sighs and shoves a hand through his already disheveled hair. 

“Rogers—”

“Then I got that letter, and I got too hopeful, thinking I had a chance,” Steve says on the next breath, sounding as though he desperately needs to blurt everything out, “but I was too late already because you don’t feel that way anymore. And then we started—doing all of _that_ and it felt so real. But whenever I tried to talk about it and tell you this is all real for me and all of my feelings for you are real, you would avoid the conversation. Look, I’m not good at talking about my feelings either, clearly, so I let you get away with not talking about anything because it was so much easier that way. If we didn’t talk about it, it wouldn’t hurt and it wouldn’t end, right?”

“Fucking hell, Rogers—”

“So I just assumed you wanted me around only as a fuck buddy but then there would be little moments that gave me hope. I thought you finally got it on New Year when you saw yourself in my drawings but I still should’ve said something. And it clearly left doubts in your mind.”

“I—”

“Even when it seemed like there wouldn’t be anything and it was just all in my imagination, I thought what we were doing could be enough, and I thought I could deal with it but I've loved you for four years, Tony, and—”

Tony's brain screeches to a grinding halt. “Wait wait wait wait wait,” he cries, finally managing to stop Steve's tirade as he holds his hands up. “Stop. _Stop!_ Rewind. _Four_ _years_ , Rogers? What do you mean you’ve _loved_ me for _four years_?”

Steve breathes a gusty sigh through his nose and squares his shoulders. They really are very impressive shoulders. “I've liked you since we were kids, Tony, since the first day we met in ninth grade,” he says slowly as though he's afraid Tony might bolt again. “I've always liked you.”

“Wait,” Tony says, his mouth feeling numb. “You just stormed in here, did a whole villain monologue, slammed everything on the table and used the big L word, and now you're saying ‘like’ again. I'm getting some mixed signals here, Rogers—”

“I _love_ you,” Steve interrupts. His eyes are wide and wild and desperate and painfully, excruciatingly honest. He moves as though to step closer but visibly forces himself to stop. “I fucking _love_ you, Tony.”

Tony doesn’t know what to say to any of that. He feels overwhelmed with everything Steve just told him, and his brain has to rewire itself to even process Steve’s words. He’s still reeling from everything Steve just said, the words washing over him and he’s barely grasping any of it, but that one singular thought keeps repeating in his head. _Steve loves him_. 

Tony had never expected Steve to say any of these things to him, had never expected Steve to even _like_ him, and he thought he could be okay with that. He thought he could pick himself up, move on from this, and eventually one day, the pain in his chest might disappear. But to have Steve confess all of this, to have everything he’s ever wanted—Tony is not used to getting what he wants.

Part of him wonders if this is all an elaborate joke, one last stab while he’s down. But a look at Steve’s face tells him everything, the open honesty and the wild desperation in his eyes. Tony thinks of what Rhodey told him. 

He shakes his head, feeling numb all over and almost misses seeing the hangdog look on Steve's face, like he actually thinks—like he actually thinks Tony doesn't feel the same way, like he's resigned to Tony rejecting him, like he believes Tony hasn't been thinking about him after that day in freshman year when they were fifteen and stupid and every day since. Like he ever stood a fucking chance— 

“Wow, you really didn’t know,” Tony mutters. “We’re both so fucking stupid.” Steve makes a noise like he's about to protest but Tony gathers his nerves, steps closer to Steve and shuts him up by kissing him. 

“You can’t keep avoiding problems by kissing me,” Steve says, looking slightly dazed and his lips are pink swollen from the kiss. 

“Seems to be working fine so far,” Tony says, feeling the heavy weight in his chest dissipate a little. 

“That was how we got into this mess in the first place,” Steve reminds him.

“I can't believe we're both so fucking stupid,” Tony says again, gentling his voice to soften the sting of the words. He touches the side of Steve’s face, fingers tracing along his jawline and delights in the way Steve shivers.

“You keep saying that,” Steve grumbles, but he catches Tony’s hand in one of his own to press a kiss to his palm. His other arm wraps around Tony’s waist and holds him tight against Steve’s chest. “We made a mess of ourselves, didn't we?”

“Yeah, we did,” Tony sighs. “We could've been _actually_ dating for months, and neither of us were smart enough to just say it outright? Fucking stupid. So stupid.”

Steve frowns, staying out of reach even as Tony tries to pull him back in for another kiss. “We _have_ been actually dating for months. Five months, one week and four days. That's how long we've been dating, and how long it took you to realize it.” His frown melts into a fond smile as he finally allows himself to be tugged forward, his free hand coming up to wreathe long fingers in Tony's hair. “That's okay,” he says gently. “I was— _am_ willing to wait.”

“ _Wow_ ,” Tony breathes, the realization barreling into him like a punch to the gut. He's not usually the last in the room to know something, and the realization that he's missed something as big as this because he's been blinded for so long is humbling. “You actually counted.”

“You want the minutes too?” Steve says with a wry twist of his mouth. 

“God, you're so fucking hot when you do that, you fucking smartass,” Tony breathes, finally managing to pull Steve close for a searing kiss. “I fucking hate it,” he says against Steve's lips. 

“You love my ass,” Steve corrects. 

Tony pauses, pushing away slightly to look at Steve. “Yeah, I do,” he finally says after a beat. He hates how low his voice gets when he says it and he's certain Steve knows he's not just talking about body parts. “I really fucking do. I can't fucking believe the first time you said that to me, you were telling me to brush my teeth.”

Steve makes a sound like he's choking on a laugh. “Not my finest moment, sorry. But I meant it then too. It just slipped out at the time because I couldn’t help myself—God, Tony do you even know what you do to me? I can spend my whole life trying to draw and paint you like that morning, haloed by sunlight in our room, wearing nothing but the sheets and the marks I left on you.”

“Jesus Christ,” Tony manages to croak past the lump forming in his throat. “I didn't realize you were such a poet, Rogers.” He pinches lightly at Steve’s side.

“I must have hundreds of drawings of you by now,” Steve confesses. “You’re all I want to draw anymore. I must’ve filled books and books with drawings of you by now, starting way back from when I first met you. All I can draw is you, all I can think about is you, all I _want_ is you. That’s why I couldn’t ever show you my room. You would’ve run screaming for the hills when you saw how many drawings and paintings I had of you. You might still run screaming for the hills now that I’m telling you—”

“Steve….” 

“Tony,” Steve says, sounding raw and earnest. His voice is soft in the slow silence. “Did you really think that I would do all of these things for someone I didn't really love? That I would’ve told just anyone even half the things I told you? That I would’ve told my mom about you? That I would’ve let you meet my mom and brought you home for Christmas?”

“Let’s be honest though,” Tony grumbles, “I met your mom totally by accident. We didn’t even know she was coming home early that day and that was kinda embarrassing and Sarah is never going to let us live that down—”

“The _point_ is,” Steve interrupts, “I love you, Tony. For real real. I am so, _so_ sorry I’ve done anything to make you think otherwise, and if you really don't feel the same way about me, I can understand that too. Or if you don’t yet, but you’re willing to give me a chance, I would spend the rest of our days proving how much I love you. I just needed to—I needed to tell you this. I didn't want you to keep thinking I was pretending this whole time.”

Tony sighs, realizing despite kissing Steve, he hasn't said anything in answer. They need to work more on communication; not talking to each other was what put them in this mess in the first place. They need to do better. They need to communicate more because he realizes enough to know it's both sides messing this up. They were both dumb enough to make assumptions of each other without putting to voice the words of what they meant to each other. The whole mess is as much Steve's fault as it is his own, and he promises silently to himself that he's going to do better, they're both going to do better, because this is too important to fuck up again.

Tony loves Steve so much, he aches with how intensely everything feels firebright and crystal sharp every time Steve is near him. He cannot possibly lose this because he's being stupid, not again, not when he can finally, _actually_ have this. 

Tony looks back up at Steve while he turns over the thoughts in his head, turning over the heartache to tentative joy, pushing aside the remnants of betrayal to uncover the bone deep relief, and finally embraces the entirety of how much he loves Steve. He watches as Steve squirms while he stays silent for a little longer, and Tony would be lying if he says he doesn't enjoy it just the tiniest bit that Steve is so clearly anticipating his reply. 

“Guess it's your lucky day, Rogers. I kinda love you too.”

“Lucky me,” Steve agrees, his shaky inhale sounding a lot like a sigh of relief. His grin spreads slow and warm on his face, lighting up his eyes and it's the most beautiful sight Tony's ever seen. 

Tony leans up for another long kiss, one that deepens into something soft and slow, and Tony can’t get enough of him, can barely believe he can have this, have _Steve_. He clenches his hands against Steve’s shoulders to keep him close and feels the answering tightening of Steve’s arms around his waist. He can stay like this forever. 

“Got a stipulation though,” Steve murmurs when they finally pull away, but he stays close enough to press their foreheads together as though he’s reluctant to part too.

Tony groans. “Can't we just skip ahead to making out and living happily ever after? We're not writing a new contract, are we?”

Steve laughs, bringing one hand up to cup Tony’s face, his thumb stroking gently along his jaw. “No contract,” he promises. “Just please stop calling me Rogers. It makes me feel like you’re out of reach when you do that. Like we’re strangers. You can call me anything else. Even snookums.”

Tony smiles. “Really, honeybun?”

“Yeah, sweetheart,” Steve says and Tony thinks he might be going into cardiac arrest, his heart is beating so fast. Steve pulls him in for another kiss and all higher thinking flies out the window. All he knows is the feeling of Steve's lips against his and the echo of _sweetheart_. “Anything for you.”

Tony beams, feeling luminescent with joy. “Thank you, beloved.”

“So,” Steve says, tightening his arms around Tony again, “I had this whole thing planned for Valentine’s Day where I was going to confess my love and everything, clear this whole thing up so you weren’t under the impression I was pretending. I was going to ask you to go steady and go to prom with me. It was going to be really romantic, Sam and Bucky were helping me plan all of it. There were flowers and balloons involved.”

“Valentine’s Day—”

Steve scrunches his nose. “Yeah that was the weekend after the trip when everything was a mess—”

“ _Go steady_?”

“Yes, like a real relationship—”

“And you were going to promposal me? I missed that?” Tony exclaims. 

“Well, you weren’t speaking to me at that time, and no matter what I tried—”

“Wow.”

“Hey, is now a bad time to ask if you want to go to prom with me?” Steve deadpans and Tony can’t help it, but laughter bubbles out of him and soon they’re both laughing, unable to stop. 

“Hmmm,” Tony considers after the last of his giggles die down. “Think I might be busy that night.”

“Oh?” Steve says with a raised brow. “What do you have going on that night?”

“I’m going to prom with my fella,” Tony replies with a soft smile. “We’re goin’ steady.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who’s stuck by this fic and gave it a chance! Here are a couple of little trivia things I can share now that the fic is done:
> 
> \- I started writing the fic last year (around September, a little after _To All The Boys I’ve Loved Before_ came out) and finished it around March, but I didn’t feel confident enough in what I had to post it.  
> \- It went through so many rounds of editing, everything from the title to the plot points to the ending that it only vaguely resembles what I originally had.  
> \- Originally, Jarvis was the one who sent out the letters.  
> \- The fic was originally titled “Some And Now None Of You” from the song, “The Night We Met,” by Lord Huron but ultimately that didn’t quite fit, but it’s a lovely song for stevetony.  
> \- I never wanted Peggy to come off as an antagonist or a bitch. While the role of the ex-girlfriend in the source material was petty and spiteful, I wanted Peggy to be empathetic and kind. Any negative thoughts about her are only Tony’s misconceptions about her relationship with Steve.  
> \- The last chapter jumped from around 5900 words to over 6800 in final editing.  
> \- There is a sequel in the works. 
> 
> And yey, now the fic is done! Thank you again to everyone who’s read this, and left a kudos or comment. Your feedback is always loved and appreciated, and it really kept me going when I had doubts about this fic. Your support for this fic means the world to me.

**Author's Note:**

> Come visit me on [Tumblr (pineapplebread)](http://pineapplebread.tumblr.com) and [Twitter (@pineapplebreads)](https://twitter.com/pineapplebreads)!


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